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MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

Hadn t he come home several times lately to find Smither s sillyblack rihbons dangling over the teacups?

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

BY

GELETT BURGESS

ILLUSTRATED BY

HENRY RALEIGH

NEW YORKTHE CENTURY CO.

1917

Copyright, 1917, by

THE CENTURY Co.

Copyright, 1917, byTHE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY

":

*

Published $epte#fyrK 2917

TO

E. L. B.

FROM

G. B.

PARIS 1916-17

M22182

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONSPAGE

Had n t he come home several times lately to find

Smither s silly black ribbons dangling over the

teacups? Frontispiece

Said Lester Hope :

"

I m an attorney at law"

. . 9

" You were surrounded by admirers, and I could

not, would not, force myself on your notice !

"

47

"Where did this carnival of roses come from?" . 65

Was n t she always saying how clever he was, andhow sensitive? 75

There was a small oblong hole in the paper, throughwhich, quite unsuspected, he could watch his

wife 107

"

I ve Oh, it s sickening to have to tell you, butI Ve fallen in love, Lester at least I think

I have"

141

" Where did you get this?"

Pauline was demanding 151

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

WHOwas she? Just another of the

smart and daringly gowned guests in

vited by Mrs. Woodling? As she sauntered

across the wide drawing-room floor, laughing

and trifling so nonchalantly with her escort,

her careless scarf artfully trailing off a white

shoulder, all eyes followed her. Bored, stiff

gentlemen awoke; laughing ladies suddenly

ceased their chatter; some of the more dis

cerning began to wonder. Who was she?

Wasn t she almost too charmingly distin

guished for a mere millionaire ?

But when, fine eyebrows lifted, she held out a

graceful white-gloved hand and exchanged the

first bright smiles with her eagerly welcominghostess no longer was there any question

about it. Indubitably she was the lion of the

evening.

3

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

But the gentleman who accompanied her, so

tall antf dark and picturesque, so gracefully

erect, , with , that ..queer unreadable smile was

he famousj too ? ; &y\the fine intellectuality of

his face yes, possibly. And yet, aristocratic

and interesting as he seemed, was n t he a little

ill at ease? That defensive reserve wasn t

it somewhat overdone? Alas, probably not a

celebrity. Feminine eyes were already desert

ing him. As his bland, bejeweled hostess

greeted him with her second-best smile oh,

no, certainly not a celebrity I Only a husband.

Glances, disappointed, returned to the lady.

Round the elaborately paneled room, the

gilded, mirrored room, frescoed, columned

and Louis Quatorzed, the guest of honor s

name came out in whispers."

Mrs.Hope," poet informed banker, backed

up against the wall."

Mrs. Hope," the in

quisitive rosy debutante murmured to her lor-

gnon-peering, white-haired dowager mama on

the gold settee."

Why, you know Pauline

Hope, the novelist I

"

Aigrettes nodded, jewels

flashed, pink-powdered shoulders leaned to

crinkling white shirt fronts."

Yes, yes, of

course; she wrote that wonderful, romantic

4

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

why, what is the name of it, now? . . . stun

ning, is n t she !

" And before the buzzing flut

ter had subsided, Mrs. Woodling, expensiveand expansive, had bubbled through the first

effervescence of her amenities; proudly she had

passed her prize along." A rare, exotic curi

osity of my own private collection," she seemed

to smile :

"

inspect, admire !

"

"

Oh, I just loved it, Mrs. Hope!"

virginal

voices petted her. ..." Perfectly fascinat

ing!" ... u So adorably romantic!" . . .

"

Oh, it must be simply wonderful to write!"

how the blue eyes beamed !..."! suppose it

just drips off your pen, Mrs. Hope, does n t

it ?"

. . .

"

Oh, I do wish you d put me in a

book, some time !

"

And thus, as one after another flatterer was

brought up to talk with Mrs. Hope or talk

at her and her husband, elbowed aside with

careless"

beg pardons," gradually edged off to

ward the wall the season s literary favorite

graciously accepted her homage.How smiling she was, how affable! As

Pauline Hope the novelist she may have winced

at times as the inevitable glib inanities gushedfor her

; but Pauline Hope was not only a nov-

5

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

elist, she was a woman. Any shrewd ob

server such as her frowning, proud husband,

for instance, seeing what only a suffering lover

can see might have suspected that this first

full taste of social success was refreshening her

very soul. With what histrionic zest she was

throwing herself into the part of handsome-

and-accomplished ! with what modest depre

ciation, too, of her fame!

But if her pose was woman-easy, her hus

band s, obviously, was hard. High though his

chin was held (suspiciously high, even), he

withdrew more and more into himself as he

withdrew from the ignoring crowd. Almost

cynically he watched her till at last she. was

captured from the Philistines by a pair of enor

mous tortoise-shell spectacles and a pointedbeard. He smiled as the editor Peever the

classic, stoop-shouldered Peever claimed her

as his lawful prey; for, in that crowd, even

Peever could not hold her long. From the at

mosphere of diamonds and dollars she wassoon borne away in triumph to a rarer, loftier

air, breathed by an inner circle of intellectuals,

birds of a still finer feather. These, as ambitious Mrs. Woodling fondly cooed, had all

6

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND" done something

"

;and here Pauline Hope

was, henceforth, to shine.

Over her bared white shoulder," Follow me,

Lester, follow !

"

her backward, questing glance

had seemed to call. Oh, yes, she wanted him,

no doubt. But what, in the name of all these

snobs and toadies, was the use? Well he

knew, by this time, what brand of patronage

snubs or worse to expect of them. He was

sensitive, he was fine-grained and he was

married to a celebrity. He was "

Mrs. Hope s

Husband!"

In the companies where they had appeared

together since her first public recognition, he

had, so far, endeavored to hold his own with

dignity. But now his pride had begun to re

volt. This evening, as he was removing his

coat, upstairs, he had been introduced to a

bearded and spectacled professor, only to hear,"

Ach, Mr. Hope ! Not de huspant of our so-

distinguished friend Pauline Hope de novelist,

yes?"

He still loved his wife; he was proud of her

success. But that he himself should have to

pay for it so dearly he had never anticipated.

Why should he submit any longer to being

7

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

treated as a nonentity? Nonentity! Why,was n t it worse even than that ? To-night, he

could n t be even simply Lester Hope. Other

men, respectable and otherwise, with brains

and without, seemed here to be willingly ac

cepted at their face value. He, however, with

a professional record of which he was in no

wise ashamed, was only"

Mrs. Hope s Husband!"

Yet, while he was present at such congregations of tuft-hunters, escape seemed impossible.

Even as he stifled his pride and brooded, nerv

ously twisting his mustache and the little tuft

on his lower lip, watching the universal adula

tion of his wife, Mrs. Woodling, like a som

nambulist, glassy-eyed, obsessed with a fixed

idea, was bearing magnificently down upon him

with a large lady in tow. Stoically he awaited.

Ah, yes, it came "

Mrs. Poppity, I want

you to meet Mrs. Hope s Husband !

" Theblow accomplished, his hostess, smiling, oh, so

sweetly smiling, slipped away.The round-eyed matron in black satin was as

soft and silly as only a huge woman in black

satin can be. Fan lifted, gazing at him dream

ily, "And what do you do, Mr. Hope?" she

8

Said Lester Hope: "I m an attorney at law"

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

breathed;

"

ah, something won-derful, I msure !

" And then, waiting for no answer, her

round, near-sighted eyes rolled away to the

other side of the crowded room, where Pauline

reigned.

Lester Hope looked at her, and looked in no

kindly mood. Said Lester Hope,"

I m an

attorney-at-law."

Surprised and shocked, the round eyes sud

denly returned, as if for explanation of a jest

too subtle for her brain;and then, embarrassed,

she began to prattle very hurriedly. But whenshe got down to rheumatism and the weather,

he finished her off with the excuse that his wife

was again beckoning him, and if Mrs. Poppitywould pardon him, he really must As he

left, her relief, apparently, was as large as

his.

Toward Pauline, however, he did not, could

not, go. Under the sparkling crystals of a

chandelier, surrounded by men, he caught sight

of her, flushed and radiant. A shock of musi

cal black hair was being emotionally shaken be

side her; she was attended by Poetry (with a

broad, black silk ribbon depending from his

eye-glasses), as she collogued Drama, fierce in

ii

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

a red mustache, and dry, whiskery Architec

ture.

Lester watched her pensively. Well, she

was happy; she had "done something." De

lightedly she was receiving the Right Hand of

Fellowship as a new-comer to Fame. There,

he too should be, longed to be, with those

choice spirits, the brains of New York. But

be with them as a mere appendage he could not.

He had no "

tag"

to his name except that

damnable, that humiliating one that still rangin his ears like the tin can on a dog s tail

"Mrs. Hope s Husband!" wherefore, his

pride compelled him to lurk on the ragged

edges of intellectuality, the limbo of half wits.

From the pompous prattle of a lank youthwho would criticize plays (but could n t write

them), and a jolly big broker with a gold tooth

who had just published an almost-original"

Life of Napoleon"

(at his own expense), he

turned, resignedly, to slip the pale graces of

Helen Ramsay, a mildly literary friend of a

certain age the age that has known one at

college, and feels privileged to whisper, "I

say, Lester, we never thought, in those dayswhen you were an editor and carrying off all

12

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

the prizes, that you d have a wife who d be

more famous than you were, did we !

"

Mrs. Woodling, however, was one of those

busy hostesses. It was against her principles

to let any one linger long with a congenial soul ;

wherefore Helen s green ear-rings and laven

der and lace were soon escorted away throughthe throng to meet a more appropriate guest.

Lester Hope nursed a sardonic smile. It

was quite all right, of course. What damned

him, apparently, amongst these New York ink-

worshipers, was merely that his name was not

printed in the papers or between covers.

What were the intricate cases he had arguedbefore the Supreme Court compared with her

magazine stories ? Could his reputation at the

bar hope to compete with the thrill of her eld

erly lovers, and meek self-sacrifices, and mis

taken identity? Helen Ramsay, of course,

was "

famous." She"

really must meet"

What s-his-name.

"Oh, Mr. Hope!" came a thin feminine

voice in his ear. Ten thousand dollars worth

of emeralds confronted him, strung on a skinny

neck. An aged head was grinning." How

proud you must be of your wife, to-night, Mr.

13

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

Hope ! Such a privilege, I m sure, for us

poor, matter-of-fact souls to be associated with

Real Brains !

" And it came out, in smirks

and simpers and amiable wrinkles, that MyDaughter Pearl was also literary, Mr. Hope,She too had real brains. It was, oh, it was

too bad, Mr. Hope, that he could n t have heard

a paper that My Daughter Pearl had written

for our Fortnightly!

Held by her emeralds and her eyes, he was

rescued only by supper; and as the faint odor

of sizzling lobster called her joyously away, an

other provocative perfume brought its messageto his own nostrils. So, toward the altar of

masculine peace he wandered, musing his insig

nificance, to burn his incense at her shrine

whose aromatic sweetness makes all menbrothers.

In a remote corner of the billiard-room,

where a few men, almost as disconsolate as he,

were fingering their watch chains and yawning

sulkily, he sat down to inhale, with his ciga

rette, a few pungent truths.

Was it possible that he could be envious of

the attention his wife was receiving? Conscience indignantly answered, No. To be sure,

14

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

he had some contempt for the silly fulsomeness

of the tribute paid, in such places as this, to lit

erary achievement; but if Pauline, a little ro

mantic in her illusions, cared for that sort of

thing, well, had n t she honestly earned it ? But

why why should he be made the sport of

fools? Potentially, at least, he considered

himself quite the intellectual equal of any of

those whom his wife found so brilliant, and,"

Really worth while, Lester !

" Not a whit

was he overpowered by the roaring lions of the

Woodling salon. What, then, was wrong?Half amused, half contemptuous, he glancedabout at the burlesque side-show of Mrs.

Woodling s intellectual circus.

Across the room cards flipped on a table;

and some one said, "Hearts!" But the manbeside Lester still gazed silently at the portrait

of a dead pheasant on the wall. Beyond him,

other moody gentlemen were lost in their highballs. He couldn t understand it. Why, he

had never been left out of it like this before!

He had never failed to be sought and welcomed

much less failed even to be considered.

What was wrong ?

From where Lester sat he saw, slantwise

15

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

through the portieres, a strip of the flowery,

red velvet hall, where violins sobbed plaintively

to an accompaniment of babbling voices not at

all plaintive, as brilliant couples passed and re-

passed. Suddenly, for one bright moment he

saw Pauline ! Pauline, in her gold-hued

silk, lovely with pearls, smiling up at a hand

some blond portrait painter with a Vandykebeard. She looked about a moment, as if for

her husband and was gone.

How vivid she was, to-night, gleeful with

victory! But as he sat there smoking reflec

tively, his mind drifted off to another world

to those days before Fame had found her. . . .

Had n t she been even more adorable then ?

. . . That little pink dimity frock . . . how

proudly she had told him ..." only seven

cents a yard, Lester," and she had made it all

herself! . . . Pauline Forr! Romantic, en

gaging Pauline-of-the-Violets ! . . . How rap

turously she had seized them from his hand,

that day !

"

Oh, Lester ! Think of it, Lester !

Violets in January !

" How she had kissed

them "

Oh, you darling little rascals !

"

kissed them, kissed" Damned bore !

"

grunted the man beside

16

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

him, lighting still another cigar, and beginning

on his seventh glass of whisky.-"

Lord, I de

spise these confounded affairs!"

The shrugged shoulders of Lester Hope un

intentionally endorsed the sentiment."

Lots of good-looking women, though.

Here, waiter, bring me another Scotch! Say,

that Mrs. Hope s rather clever, I expect, is n t

she ? Pretty, anyway. Meet her ?"

"Oh, yes."But Lester Hope s cigarette

had accidentally dropped." What s her husband like? Know him?

"

Lester hesitated."

Oh, yes, fairly well."

Uncomfortable and alarmed, he had started

to rise to make his escape; but the man was

holding him with a twinkling, alcoholic eye." He must feel pretty cheap, I should think,

tagging along after her. Here, try one of

these Vencedoras." He yawned and hic

coughed behind his hand, and grinned,"

Lord,if my wife had beat me out like that, damnedif I would n t stay at home." Twisting his

perfecto in his mouth he began to chuckle."

Say reminds me of a vaudeville team

fellow told me about once. Wife used to do a

heavy acrobatic stunt and practised seven

17

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

hours a day ;earned two hundred a week. Mr.

Husband stood in the wings for twenty min

utes, twice a day, handing her the props.

Then he d go round to the nearest saloon and

brag about Our Act !

"

Poking Lester in the

side with his thumb, he added,"

Say, this chap

Hope s probably about like that, eh?" He

laughed reflectively, unctuously.

As a horrified guest plucked at the joker s

sleeve and whispered something which made

him sit up, sobered, and mutter," Good God !

He is?"

Lester Hope retreated to the drawing-

room, blushing hot with shame, but at last thor

oughly awakened.

He had his answer, now. Why, if he had

grown so negative and insignificant that a mancould assume from his mere appearance that he

was a nobody well, he must have fallen a

good deal below par. Why should he have

crawled away and hidden amongst these merelyHusbands? What the devil had he, Lester

Hope, to be ashamed of ? Was n t it manlier,

after all, to swagger about" Our Act," than to

sneak off with his tail between his legs ?

Yes; he was making more of a fool of him

self than they were of him. Either he should

18

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

swallow his infernal pride and be honestly,

openly proud of his wife, or else stay decently

at home and let the Mrs. Poppitys of this fool

ish bookish world forget him.

And before he had left that swarming house

that night that was what Lester Hope had

firmly decided to do.

II

S. HOPE S HUSBAND!" For

days, to the confusion of every other

idea, the phrase had rung in his ears." Mrs.

Hope s Husband, Attorney-at-Law," he

seemed to read at the top of his office station

ery ; and, at the bottom he had all but written," Yours truly, Mrs. Hope s Husband." Everybookstore he passed called out to him,

"

Mrs.

Hope s Husband !

"

That miserable ghost of

his mortified self had worked and walked homewith him. Nor did it leave him even there.

Once the key was turned and the door of his

smart little Georgian house, opening, showed

the hall, trim and elegant with its white woodwork and curling stairway, lo, the specter was

ready, awaiting him.

That specter, seated mockingly upon the

floor, was a huge package wrapped in brown

paper. It was the regular, fat, monthly offer

ing of books from Peever, her publisher, ad

dressed to"

Mrs. Pauline Hope."

" But why20

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

the devil not Mrs. Lester Hope ?"

he ques

tioned sulkily. On a tray was the usual pile of

letters. The envelopes were almost all ad

dressed also to"

Mrs. Pauline Hope"

;as if,

indeed, she were already a widow !

Depressed, his aristocratic appearance al

ready a little dimmed, he went into the long,

low library. Those rows of books and books

had often sheltered him in a port of peace.

But to-night his own books reproached him.

Sighing, he listlessly took up the evening

paper. His eyes, after a while, fell upon the

society notes. Yes, there it was ! At the veryend of a list of

"

those present"

at the Wood-

ling reception he read :

"

Miss Helen Ramsay, Mr. Saul Tremlett, and Mr. L. Hope, the

husband of the distinguished novelist." The

paper sailed across the room. Surely it was

high time for him seriously to consider his

problem !

"Mrs. Hope s Husband!" He Lester

Hope! Long he sat and pondered it. He,with his high pride a mere possession !

How had he ever become so negative, he whohad so often been called magnetic !

Was it just another of the many comic trage-21

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

dies of the too-early marriage one partner

going on and the other lagging behind in ar

rested development? Bang! His fist came

down on the table. No! Downtown he was

positive enough. Men respected him, admired

him; and women had shown him favor. Hefelt strength in him. He was not one of those

timid mortals whom success had never touched.

At college, in the polo field, and before the

bar he had proved it. Yes, in his own way he

too had won. But he had n t happened to win

in hers.

Spontaneously, out of the past, a picture

came a day in their first suburban homewhen she had been so happy that she had been

almost afraid it might not last. With what

devoted courage she had said," Promise me,

Lester, let us promise each other that if the

time should ever come when our love changesever so little, we will be honest with each

other!"

Would that time ever come? Was it, per

haps, even now well on the way? Could this

new success of hers possibly separate them?

And if it did, would she be honest, would she

tell him? . . . Like a warning, the ringing,

22

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

ringing of a bell awakened him from his revery."

Hello! Yes ...yes."

He had goneacross to Pauline s desk and taken up the tele

phone."

No, she s not at home yet ... I

don t know . . . Yes, probably." Then, his

face clouded and he smiled bitterly."

Yes,

this is Mrs. Hope s Husband. . . . Verywell, Mrs. Tremlett, when she comes in." The

receiver struck the hook with a whang. Even

in his own home he could n t escape !

Well his wife, he recalled, was that after

noon reading from her own " works"

at some

precious woman s club. There was, as usual,"

something on"

for the evening somethingof Peever s contriving, with people, of course,

who had "

done something." But Lester Hopehad decided not to be there; and he antici

pated a rather bad quarter of an hour breakingthe news to Pauline.

After she had come laughing home, how

ever, and, with an impulsive kiss, had joyouslyinvited him up to her pretty, feminine, blue-

chintz room while she dressed combing,

manicuring, gossiping of her female adorers of

the afternoon, and," Where is that cold

cream?" her lips saying, "Oh, but. Lester,

23

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

those women were too absurd, really," while

her eyes were confessing," How I love their

praise !

"

he found his excuses for his ab

sence that night accepted, as she gazed at her

self in the mirror, with a careless,"

I m so

sorry, dear, you can t go !

"

And at dinner, later, with her pile of letters

at her plate, as she took, first, a spoonful of

celery soup, and then a taste of buttered flat

tery from some unknown correspondent

chattering on over her fish of how Helen Ramsay had inquired for him, and

"

Heavens, an

other request for an autograph!" enthusi

astically attacking her roast, seasoned with" Think of advertising me as the most beauti

ful authoress in the United States !

"

but, with

the olives, only nibbling abstractedly at"

Could n t you really manage to go with me,

darling or come for me later, dear?" and"

Oh, what is this ?"

as she read another"

lovely"

review of her book, kindling and

glowing, so pleased with life and art Lester

Hope smiled to think with what ironic ease the

scenes often pass off that one has most dreaded.

He was working on an important case, he

had told her, and she accepted his explanation

24

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

without suspicion. Was n t she, in fact, a little

too ready to accept it ? Did n t she change the

subject rather abruptly to the fact that her

name was in the new edition of" Who s

Who? "

And, while she ran on about havingher portrait painted by Willyer, and her elec

tion to a woman s fashionable club, Lester

Hope sat thinking. Why was he so perturbed ?

After all, was n t it natural enough and pardonable enough that all this flattery and hero-wor

ship should turn her head a little ?

But every day he grew more depressed. So

far, he had felt only the pin-pricks to his pride ;

but now a steady heart-ache began to oppresshim. More and more her career seemed to be

alienating them. Undoubtedly if he had

spoken of it, she would have said that it was

only his fault. If he would stay at home

nights, or work late at the office instead of

accompanying her, how could she help it?

Nevertheless, he noticed that she urged him less

and less to go with her.

There were, of course, dinners she gave at

home, ordeals which he had perforce to at

tend. He could n t always have"

business in

Boston," or"

an important conference in Phil-

25

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

adelphia."At his own table he roused him

self with an effort to be agreeable to the Peev-

ers and Woodlings, to joke affably with writing

persons, from the latest visiting Briton to

story-tellers of the Helen Ramsay type. V/ith

an occasional guest, such as the handsome portrait painter, Willyer, who, thank God, did n t

scribble, he got on sympathetically ; but his hos

pitable efforts in the role of Mrs. Hope s Husband usually exhausted him. The minor

celebrities were over-polite, treating him as

something between an old family servant and

a precocious boy. The higher stars of litera

ture drank his wines, they smoked his cigars,

they were assiduous to his pretty wife. But

her husband they jovially ignored.

Down to the library, one evening, came Pauline in a bewitching new gown one of the

extravagances for which she was now payingherself. Never had he seen her so beautiful,

he thought, as when she walked into the roomand threw down her tulle scarf. What a

change from the slender lines of her budding

youth to this regnant lady blooming to-night in

26

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

perfect flower! His wife? It seemed impossible!

The jewels on her bare throat sparkled; and

as she critically selected her orchids under the

Winged Victory, Lester Hope saw as never

before what success had done for her. Let

ting his pen fall, he watched her. No, ah, no

longer was she Pauline Forr, the naive, roman

tic, talented girl, the wayward darling he had

first loved and molded. Could Pauline Forr

ever have handled those orchids so calmly?Pauline-of-the-violets ! Nor was she any

longer that young Mrs. Hope, that fresh, subur

ban Mrs. Hope, so proud of her husband, her

home, her position. Oh, no; young Mrs.

Hope, before this, would have had her arms

about him, petting him, teasing him, pulling

that obstinate lock of hair God, how he

remembered so whimsically affectionate!

The orchids were arranged in her corsage;the orchids were rearranged. There was a re-

connoitering glance ; then," Could n t you pos

sibly come with me, dear, this time ?"

He stiffened, and shook his head."

I d particularly like you to, to-night, Les-

27

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

ter. It s horrid going alone." She laid her

hand gently on his arm. "Of course I know

it may bore you, but"

God, how he wanted to seize that hand,

seize her as he used to, and crush her in his

arms ! But his demon of pride forbade. In

stead, he turned to his papers uneasily."

No,"

he said, dully,"

I m sorry, but I ve got some

writing to do."

There was a moment s wait; then, with a

toss of her head, her expression changed.

Chin up, shoulders back, splendid as a countess

was Pauline Hope. Oh, there was no chang

ing her pose, now;

it was quite evident that it

would last all the evening and more than

one would ask, admiringly," Who is that over

there, that proud-looking creature, with the

dark hair?"

As the front door closed on her, Lester Hoperose wearily. To-night, for the first time

yes, for the very first time he really wanted

to be alone. He looked about. Good Godalone? why, the whole room seemed fairly

filled with her brilliant, eclipsing personality.

Didn t everything in it suggest her? She

dominated him still.

28

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

Out went an electric light, and her writing

desk disappeared into the gloom. Shrouded in

that shadow too, her framed photographs of

authors and "

presentation copies"

no longer

accused him of his own conspicuous lack of

fame. He turned another switch, and another,

drowning more evidences of her new, public

prosperity those rare editions she was so

proud of, her prints, her paintings, and all that

made the place so appallingly literary until

at last he was safe in a little yellow oasis of

light at his own desk. Safe? Ah, still in the

shadows the specter lurked." What are you

going to do with me? "

it seemed to say."

I

am Mrs. Hope s Husband !

"

And yet it was not as"

Mrs. Hope s Hus

band"

that he had gone so brilliantly through

college; it was not "Mrs. Hope s Husband"

who had won with dash and skill on the polo

field;and when men talked of the stars of

criminal legal practice his successes had never

been set down to"

Mrs. Hope s Husband."

Surely there was some personal force in him.

No, what people had said was that Lester

Hope was magnetic ;that he was a good fighter ;

that he never quit. They said also that his

29

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

force was heightened by his picturesque and

distinguished appearance, for, so tall and dark,

with his twisted mustache and the little tuft

on his chin, with his long sensitive hands, he

looked more like a French count that a NewYork lawyer. Now, alone in his library as he

paced, absorbed, he showed something of that

old vigor ;but well he knew that, once Pauline

had returned radiating her new prestige, that

positive personality of his would again fade

and dwindle.

The dull blue portieres were parted, Amaid looked into the room.

" There s a package come for Mrs. Hope,

sir," she said." Could you sign for it ? The

man s awful particular about it, but he said if

she was n t in, Mrs. Hope s Husband would

do." She left without noticing the cheeks of

the self-controlled man who had handed her

back the receipt book. They were burning as

hotly as if she had struck him in the face.

As he opened and shut the drawers of his

desk, thinking dispiritedly that he must go to

work, he paused, staring at something some

thing ragged, worn, soiled.

He drew it out. What queer, stutteringly

30

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

printed words, what irregular spacing and er

ratic margins. Hyphens and capital letters

strewn in reckless profusion, words crossed out,

words written in, careted and blotted well he

knew those pages! Again he seemed to be

talking over those early tales of hers with her,

arguing their psychology, elaborating their ro

mantic plots. Why, they had sat up talking

them over excitedly, night after night to

gether, often till two or three in the morning!

Together ! where was that"

togetherness,"

as she used to call it, now ?

He laid the manuscript gently down . . .

Pauline . . . Pauline! . . . How he had

worked with her! Heart and brain, how he

had fought for her ! ... He could n t help it,

damn it, the tears would come. . . . Once he

had inspired her once he had taught her

that was all over. For a while his education

and his man s experience had led her, but her

technique had soon caught up with her creative

talent. Yes, she had caught up with him, too,

and passed him on the road. And now, appar

ently, she needed him no longer.

Well, even if he had lost her, or was, appar

ently, fast losing her, did n t that word "

hus-

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

band" mean at least that he had won her once?

Lost! why lost? Hadn t he lost cases be

fore, in the lower courts, only to win them in

the end doggedly on appeal? Why, then,

should n t he demand a retrial in this case, the

greatest case of his life, and try to win her back

again? But how? His mind began to seek

back and forth furiously on the scent, as it

often did downtown when he seemed to be

beaten. How? How? Was a second ro

mance ever possible between married lovers?

Was it? Was it? It seemed absurd, yet the

thought stimulated him.

How ? How the devil how? Gazing at

the rows and rows of books that lined the

walls, wandering, wondering through"

if

only"

and "

there must be some way !

"

his

fancy quested until he had no idea how longhe had been sitting there, scowling, chewinghis cigar he came briskly to himself, apos

trophizing the shadowy Winged Victory with

the savage exclamation,"

Why not ?"

Others had done it; why not he ? Did n t

they still come continually, come by dozens

sometimes, those confounded letters, those

friendly letters, foolish letters, fulsome, flat-

32

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

tering, from unknown correspondents? Howinterestedly they had both read them, at first,

discussing the writers, analyzing the characters

they revealed! How proud she still was of

them, too! He smiled . . . Pauline at her

desk, opening her letters complacently, sucking

the last drop of praise from every one. . . .

Yes, and she would read his, too. Perhaps,

though, she might not answer it. A frown.

But why not compel her to answer it ? A smile

of pride. He had invention, many had called

him clever;could n t he play on her curiosity,

her passion for romance? After all, Pauline

was still a woman, and he was still a man.

What were men s wits for, anyway, but to con

quer women ? And his wits were supposed to

be trained in practical psychology; why not

prove them ? And, at least, one sharp weaponwas left to him

;its name was Mystery.

By the Winged Victory of Samothrace, he d

do it ! At that moment any woman would say,

and most men think, that Lester Hope was

handsome. There was a new strength in the

gesture with which he tossed back his black

hair. Had Pauline come in upon him at that

moment But she did not come in.

33

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

Of course the letter would have to be type

written to conceal his identity. A mere detail

that of course could be done next day at the

office. Let s see he would give for his ad^

dress a new post-office box ;and he would sign

it what? Long he studied before he chose

"John Irons." Long, long he reflected,

more absorbed than ever he had been in a crim

inal case, smoking on, smoking on, before he

had, lawyer-wise, decided with a new smile

upon Pauline s vulnerable point and where the

line of least resistance to his flattery lay.

And so, crossing to the bookshelves to turn

the pages of her novel thoughtfully, back to his

desk with it, lost in his plan, scribbling fu

riously walking the floor sitting down,

finally, to copy all carefully, deliberately, Les

ter Hope did not realize, till at midnight he

heard the front door opening, that for two

whole hours he had forgotten that he was"

Mrs. Hope s Husband."

34

Ill

ITis a fact, although some unmarried women

may not know it, that trimming a mustache

is one of the few small vanities a self-respect

ing man permits himself to practise before the

mirror consciously, seriously, and unashamed.

Lester Hope, with puckered brow, was trim

ming his mustache. A knock a knock at

his wife s door. Eight thirty-five. Ah, her

breakfast and her mail ! Smiling, but a

little excited, he laid down his scissors. Thenew trial had begun. Anxiously he awaited

Pauline s opening for the defense.

It was not long, however, before her gay

soprano, "Lester! oh, Lester!" brought him

strolling into her room, to find her ambushed

in laces and ribbons in her four-poster, propped

up luxuriously amongst the pillows. She was

drinking her chocolate. Smiling consciously,

he waited. Many, many were the witnesses he

had cross-examined, and well he knew their

35

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

carefully-careless look. But this time that look

was on his own face."

Say, Lester," she began," remember what

fun we had about all the people who congratu

lated us on our engagement? Remember

Quivin, Les?"

"

Why, yes. Heard from Quivin ?"

" No. But just think of his saying to you,

that time, Well, I hope you 11 get along well

with her ! But that showed that Quivindidn t get along any too well with his wife,

didn t it? And that snippy Nell Tremlett,

too!"

"Oh, heard from Nell?"

She shook her head with impatience.<c Don t you know, though, Nell said, Well,

you 11 find it very different, Pauline, after

you re married ! and that told her story.

Why, your cousin Ned no, I have n t heard

from Ned, Lester;don t be so nervous ! he

was the only one, apparently, who was happily

married. Good for you, Les, it s the only

way to live ! remember ?"

Watching her sharply, he nodded."

Yes,

of course;what of it ?

"

"

Why, only this : each one of them was un-

36

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

consciously expressing his subconscious mind,"

said Pauline, decidedly."

According to modern psychology one s dominant traits must in

evitably come out in one s talk or one s writ

ing. A penurious person is n t he always

talking about money, and a vain person of peo

ple s looks?"

"

Yes, my dear," Lester smiled at his cig

arette." Also the earth is round, and slightly

flattened at"

but his eyes were suddenly at

tracted by the yellow sheet with which she was

now gesticulating. That squarish, yellow sheet

he had chosen purposely that he might recog

nize it at a glance."

See here," she said,"

I d like your opinion

of this. I think it s rather clever, myself.

It s from one of my latest admirers." Bri

dling, she turned it over and looked at the sig

nature."

John Irons, whoever he is. Lis

ten to this, though : Tiny, small, delicate, wee,

darling, diminutive, little and so on. Look

at that long list of words, will you ? All taken,

if you please, from one chapter of my novel.

See? Friend Irons infers, from the tendencyshown in that unconscious way, that I am fond

of little things toys, carvings, and minia-

37

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

tures, and bibelots, etc. Well that s all true

enough. Why, he s deduced my whole wonderful exquisite character, in fact, from my vo

cabulary."

Now, as she re-read the letter, he wondered,

for a moment, if he had made any mistake that

might have betrayed him. She was chuckling."

Dusky gold !

"

she laughed."

Dusky

gold ! Yes, I remember I was rather pleased

at that. Opalescent, sheen, velvety-bloom,

smoky-red, virginal, gossamer, floaty, filmy, di

aphanous look, a whole procession of deco

rative words like that, marching right down the

page. See ? And here s what John says in

conclusion. Are you listening, Lester ? Analmost pathetic love of beauty; you must have

been deprived of pretty things when you were

young. That s right, too; I was, wasn t I?*

Disliking discords in life and art. H m!Fond of admiration. Well, who is n t?

"

Lester walked to the window to hide his face

from her." What an ass !

"

"

Oh, I don t know, Les," her tone now was

thoughtful."

Loyal, while seeming to for

get. I don t see where he got that ! But is n t

it remarkable ?"

38

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND"

Sounds like the Baconian cipher, to me,

picking out words to fit, like that. Why, youcould prove almost anything, that

way."

"

But he happens to prove just exactly the

things that are true. Why, he might have

known me for years ! Of course, he s rather

complimentary, too. He says where is

that ? oh You must be the most charm

ing woman in the world. You need n t shrug

your shoulders, Lester; perhaps I am. But

wait a minute !

"

and she continued more

slowly."

Hopes he may develop the ac

quaintance by some more direct means.

Her embarrassed laugh did not conceal a seri

ous interest." What d you suppose he in

tends by that? Meet him around the corner,

or what ? Would you answer him, Les ?"

Lester yawned artistically."

Oh, if youfeel like it. Lord, / don t know !

"

"

I don t know either." As she spoke,

abstractedly she kept folding and unfolding the

yellow sheet."

I think sometimes you can

really tell more about a person from a letter

than why, Lester, if I wanted to get a line

on you d you know what I d do? I d just

go away, visit mother or something, and make

39

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

you write to me. I really believe I d find out

more about you than by living with you for six

months !

"

And, though she drifted off in a description

of last night s reception, her husband suspected,

beneath her gossip of Mrs. Poppity s latest

blunder, and how Smithers wished to dedicate

his book of poems" To P. H.," a strong under

current of John Irons in her mind, which she

seemed to be taking some pains to conceal.

That forenoon Lester Hope walked downtown

to his office not a little elated.

For three afternoons, each day a little less

elated, he walked downtown only to be disap

pointed. But on the fourth day when he

stopped at the post office and looked in as

usual through the little glass door, behold, a

pale blue envelope! It was addressed to

"John Irons, Esq., P. O. Box 1711" in

Pauline s handwriting, bold and rapid.

Gingerly he took it out, feeling somewhat as

if he were robbing the mails, and tore open the

blue envelope. The sensation was, he thought,

a bit too like eavesdropping on Pauline to be

comfortable. Of course it was for him, that

40

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

letter ; but at the same time it was n t exactly

for her husband, was it?

Well, never mind;at a shelf-desk by the big,

dirty window, hustled by the crowd, he found

himself reading:

"

My dear Mr. John Irons:"

I m so glad to have found at least one

careful student of my book. Really, you

quite remind one of those patient, laborious

old prisoners in medieval dungeons who spent

their days counting the number of the s and

and s in the Bible. It was almost a pity,

though, for you to have wasted so much time

on my novel that might have been spent,

might n t it ? at a dollar a palm, with the gypsies."

Pauline went on in an almost gleeful strain

to fear that she wasn t half so nice as JohnIrons had made out, and that, really, if she

were honest (which, of course, she was n t), she

ought to insert a lot of brittle, magenta, sharp-

pointed words into her next novel, just to make

his pet theories consistent. In conclusion, (the

note was short), she wondered Who he was.

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

There was altogether a dancing note of cor

diality and frankness in it that rather surprised

him ; and a little something about it also that he

did n t quite like. Just why, he found

it hard to decide. What, then, had he antici

pated? Wasn t it in just this way, inducing

just this charmingly amenable mood, that he

had expected to rewin her love? All he knew

was that some Imp of the Perverse had touched

him with a faint regret that he had succeeded

so well. Did n t she, he thought, come almost

too easily? The sudden revelation of her as

she appeared secretly with a stranger was al

most uncomfortable, even though that stran

ger were himself.

At the office, he found, after some search,

the last letter he had received from his wife,

when, two months ago, she had gone to visit

her mother. It told of the weather, it told of

the theaters, it told of the state of her health.

Quite a contrast, it seemed to him, her letter

to"

Mrs. Hope s Husband "

and that flirta

tious note to John Irons but the thought he

shook off. After all, since he was John Irons,

why not rejoice with John? This was the

only way he knew to win her, and win her

42

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

he must! On with the masquerade! Jumping again into his new mental costume, he sat

down to write his reply." So you wonder who I am ? You will

never, never suspect me." He stopped and

gazed at his typewriter. Then the keys

snapped savagely."

I am far too unimportant, and I am too proud to confess my name.

I am not in your set, nor even in the brilliant

circle of your acquaintance. We have met, it

is true; but I have every reason to believe that

you have forgotten me. But, my dear Mrs.

Hope, though I have only just summoned

courage to write to you, I have long, long ad

mired you. And yet, bright a star as I see

you, don t think me dazzled or afraid. I

know your faults as well as your virtues.

You have no greater friend, or severer critic

and remember that I am watching you all

the time, in the dark!"

He continued in as spirited and daring a

vein as he thought he might without fright

ening her away. Experience had taught himthat when a woman is to be won she must be

won quickly, while the game is new and ex

citing.

43

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

That night they had pork chops for dinner.

Pauline asked if the coal had been ordered

and the milk bill paid. She spent most of the

evening in deciding which photograph, from

a set of proofs, would be most effective in ad

vertising a holiday edition of her novel.

Her next letter, because of two sly little

words, amused him." Are n t you forcing

this a little?" came her mild protest." As a

reader of character I admit you are rather

good, though I fear superficial. I have an

idea, however, that I might perhaps do as well

myself; but I haven t enough data, as yet, in

your vocabulary to be able to deduce your

character, and decide whether or not I care to

continue the correspondence."" As

yet."Business forgotten, the tele

phone unanswered, in his office he thought

fully rubbed his chin and smiled at those two

words;then frowned.

"

I have n t enough

data, asyet!" Why, couched though it was,

woman-fashion, in the guise of a rebuke,

was n t it virtually an invitation to continue ?

Yes, she was distinctly encouraging. Thebattle was on.

And, daily, as it raged, for they now wrote

44

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

daily, there was at home, apparently, never

anything more between them than a dinner

table or the upstairs hall! Friends, partners,

mates, roast beef and the"

Evening Tribune"

plus invisible, clandestine romance! With

every surreptitious glance he stole at her as

she read, or wrote, or sang, he wondered what

name to give to the domestic drama Com

edy or Tragedy ?

Never before, possibly, had his office type

writing machine transcribed such jaunty mes

sages as during these weeks when, evening

after evening, he lighted the electric lamp and

sat down alone to write to Pauline. Those

stiff old wires and springs, habituated to" Yours of the i8th at hand," and

"

the party

of the firstpart,"

must have felt an unaccus

tomed thrill as they jumped and rattled to the

elastic words :

"

// / could be near you, and

see you and hear you, I d probably fear youtoo much to confess what now I m Implying,

(at least I am trying), and also relying on

you, too, to guess!"

So shrewdly, he eschewed the sentimental

note. At lovers fond perjuries they say Jove

laughs; but Minerva, yes, and all Olympus,

45

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

will abet a courtship where grace and humorwoo.

Hard work enough it was, too, with his

wife drifting, drifting away, to force himself

to the blithe pristine note of his early sweet-

hearting; but he succeeded. He was sure of

that when she responded a little more promptlythan before, and quite in his own vein. Howlong, oh, how long it had been since his wife

had written verses to him !

So nibble, nibble, nibble and his fish

was almost on the hook. His romantic bait

had been just the thing for her fancy. At

home, Pauline had casually mentioned the

John Irons letters occasionally as they came,

with a touch of amusement.

"Want to see it, Lester?" she would say,

carelessly, as she skirmished through the magazines for a February number, containing her

picture.

He displayed only the lukewarm interest of c*

sleepy spouse."

Oh, I guess not now, thanks,

I d like to finish this story I m reading."

Show him her letters, would she? It was

a harmless Platonic game, then a family

46

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

affair! He had no idea of carrying on a mere

practical joke; his object was serious; to re-

win her love, no less. So now if he were to

land her, so to speak, it was time for a quick

jerk to the line. He decided to try to write

her so warm, so private a letter that, thoughshe would accept it from an unknown admirer,

she would not quite care or even dare to show

it to her husband.

For this, a new touch of romance. And if

there are still those who think a typewrittenletter cannot breathe romance, they should

have watched Pauline Hope (as, through her

half-opened door, Lester himself, one morn

ing, shamelessly watched her), studying his

ardent lines."

Always I shall think of you as once I saw

you, in golden silk andpearls,"

he had writ

ten." You were surrounded by admirers,

and I could not, would not, force myself on

your notice; though I watched you all the

evening! But to-day I saw you almost more

radiant on the street with your husband.

Yes, and I was, for a moment, very near youI might have touched your hand ! And I

49

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

knew, then, that I loved you! You wore no

flowers, I am sure, and yet when you passed,

I swear I breathed violets !

"

Ah, love unadorned is common enoughbut robed in mystery mystery and mischief !

Little wonder the situation caught her novel

ist s fancy. Yet, pause a moment, and ob

serve the piquant picture ; for, tapping away at

the prosaic keys of his typewriter, it never

occurred to Lester Hope to wonder which,

after all, was the more romantic figure his

picturesque John Irons of fiction, following

her dramatically in secret, or Mrs. Hope s

Husband of fact, in blue worsted, in shirt

sleeves and green eye-shade, alone in his office

after his clerks had gone, only the one desk

lamp lighted, trying mercilessly to divide him

self in twain and pit one against the other in

the fight for Pauline.

It was the pile of unopened letters that lay

on her flowery-fragrant breakfast table next

morning that gave him his real result; amongst

them he spied no square yellow envelope. Yet

a square yellow envelope certainly had been on

the tray when the mail was brought up to her

50

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

he had assured himself of that when the

maid passed him on the stairs.

Pauline rose, and Pauline dressed. Downthe curly staircase, clad all in white, she came

a-singing. A joyous kiss she threw at

Willyer s portrait of herself in the library.

She scolded the dog, petted the cat, ordered

veal cutlets for luncheon, talking gaily all the

time.

The creaming and sugaring of her oatmeal,

however, seemed to require more concentra

tion. In silence, she took a few dainty spoonfuls. Then, thoughtfully: "Lester, d yourecall when I wore that yellow silk even

ing gown of mine last? At the Woodlings ,

was n t it ? You were there, that night, at

that first reception she gave for me, were n t

you?"

"Why, yes" he said; "what about it?"

"

Oh, nothing." She looked up, caught his

eye, suddenly looked down again."

I was

just wondering if if I d dare to wear it

there again, that s all." A pause."

Say,

Lester; d you remember who was there, that

night? Now, don t be sarcastic I mean,

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

was there any one there well, that we knew,but had n t seen for a long time, for instance ?

Nobody of any importance of course. Al

most a stranger, you might say ?"

He appeared not to notice any hidden motive in her query, and with the stupidity of a

doting, unsuspicious husband, he answered

only, "No. Why?"

"Oh, I was only trying to think of of

whom to invite to . . ." Pauline dwindled

off, and for a time there was no sound but the

delicate click of her spoon against the plate,

and the rustling of his newspaper."

Say, Les; you know when we were walk

ing downtown yesterday morning ? You don t

recall seeing any one particular, do you?

any one you knew ?"

"

Nobody but the postman."" That s funny/ Pauline murmured.

Yes, it was rather funny, he thought; but

he did n t say so.

Over the top of his newspaper he watched

guardedly as she tasted her porridge, waitingfor her to mention John Irons. Never a word

more did Pauline say.

But, when it came to it, why should she?

52

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

Happy as their married life had been, it was

not established upon the theory of a private

ownership of one by the other. They were

both tacitly free to give or withhold their con

fidence. But one significant thing he did no

tice that Pauline s farewell kiss was just

a bit more clinging than usual. Was n t her

conscience troubling her a little ? he wondered.

And by just that extra amount of fervor

in the demonstration, he suspected, Lester

Hope had fallen, and John Irons had risen, in

the scales of her affection.

53

IV

INthe weeks that followed, Lester s tete-a

tetes with his wife grew ever rarer. Tofind a bevy of celebrities gossiping over Pau

line s teacups when he came home was quite

what he had to expect, nowadays ;or else, per

haps, it would be old Peever ensconced with

her in the library. Manuscripts and magazines, royalties, reviews how sick Lester

had grown of them ! But when, by happy ac

cident, he and Pauline did have dinner alone

together, without literary ladies-with-three-

names or blatant he-talkers, Lester was often

tempted to hazard the careless question :

"

Oh, by the way, Pauline, ever heard any

thing more from that Irons chap ?"

But, as he leaned back in his chair, scrutin

izing her thoughtfully, he would always wonder: What if Pauline should deny it? No,he feared to put her to the test. He, the hus

band, was still jealous of himself, the lover.

Still, she was friendly enough, too. She

54

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

was always considerate; outwardly, at least,

she was affectionate. But somehow his wife

well, she seemed to be growing every daymore like the fine portrait Willyer had painted

of her that handsome, that inscrutable, aris

tocrat in black velvet. And often, as he

looked up at her, she seemed to smile ambigu

ously down at him from the library wall as if

saying,"

Well, I too have my secret." Hersoul was fading from his ken.

The Lady of the Letters, on the other hand,

was becoming ever more sharply defined.

Nothing gives a woman a new lease of life like

the discovery of an unsuspected Romeo, and

the avowal of John Irons s love had lifted her

spirits like wine. She was no longer merely

Pauline; she was quite a new person, with all

the charm of newness. But did n t she have

also, thrilling him often, a charm that was old,

familiar long lost? Why, at times, in the

exuberance of her letters she was almost Pau-

line-of-the-Violets !

Weaving in and out through the drearytechnicalities of his business affairs, day after

day, her friendly nonsense would dance

through his head :

55

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND" At a mystery you really are an artist,

And your charming incognito is a gameThat you handle with the grace of a Delsartist;

But I think you re quite too speedy, all the same !

" So the kiss that you beseech of me to post youI refuse; for you must surely understand

That a lady does n t give a kiss, you ghost, you,

Till the gentleman at least has held her hand !

"

Oh, it was easy enough, now, to sit downand begin,

"

My dear Pauline"

; easy enoughto jest with her on paper, easy enough to pique

her curiosity and keep the romance at the bub

bling point."

Yesterday, I saw you and fol

lowed you for blocks. At first, I could have

killed every man who turned to look at you;afterwards I could have killed every man whodid not. I wonder if you are as proud as you

ought to be of that free graceful gait of

yours?" Easy enough it was, in the neutral

environment of his downtown office, alone,

quiet, to forget for the nonce that he was"

Mrs. Hope s Husband." . . .

What was hard was when he was at homewith her; when he was watching her intently

watching Pauline the wife, that is and

56

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

trying to discover in her Pauline the sweet

heart."

Why, Lester, what is the matter with

you?" she would exclaim, sometimes, glanc

ing up from her book." You ve been look

ing at me so queerly ! What are you thinking

of? I should think I were a total stranger!"

And Pauline would laugh in A-sharp and Les

ter in D-flat, which, in domestic music,

whether classic or modern, is a discord.

Harder still it was when Helen Ramsaycalled, and was coquettish.

" Are n t you looking rather fagged, Les-

.ter? You re not leading a double life, are

you?" A wink at Pauline.

" You can t tell

much about Lester, you know; he was rather

romantic, I found, when he was at college."

Hardest of all on his pride were the times

when his wife, smoothly reluctant, explainedthat Peever was going to bring that Englishauthor to-night, you know, and she supposed

they d just talk books and books and, "Of

course I d love to have you, Les, but still, if

you think you ll be bored"

She might as

well have given him a stick of candy, and told

him to go off and play by himself !

57

X

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

And, meanwhile" How do you dare, you

devil !

"

she was writing to John Irons." You

know that I am married. Well, how do I

dare? I don t know whether you are, or not;

but,, (is n t it awful!) I don t much care as

yet. I have to confess that you, my charming

serpent, have quite fascinated poor timid bird

Me. There s something about you, plague

take you, that makes me quite willing to trust

you recklessly. I am even willing to run the

risk of your thinking me (I m not) bold or

credulous. Oh, J. L, I have simply searched

my soul for phrases to explain why, somehow,

I don t and simply can t feel guilty. I am re

duced, actually, to the coy school-girl confes

sion, I feel as if I had known you always !

"

And then to come home, hungry for one

look of that affectionate abandon in her eyes

to find her, so beautiful, so cool oh, God,

so suave with her drawing-room full of

Polish artists, varnished mondaines, hungry-

looking poets, and be affably patronized as

"Mrs. Hope s Husband!"

And so, Lester Hope having thus been in

troduced to the torture chamber, let him be

58

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

delicately tormented further to determine if

he be domitable; or, if not, what lyric may be

wrung from his distress.

Lying on the big leather couch in the library

alone one night (and that is where Willyer

should have painted him, a long, graceful fig

ure, with a darkly picturesque head how he

would have made those Irish-blue eyes twinkle

under the black lashes!) Lester Hope was

wondering wondering if, after all, he could

ever bear it to win Pauline anew in this

strange, unsatisfactory fashion. Was n t it

even dishonorable; a sneaky trick on her, of

which he should be ashamed ? What would it

prove, anyway, to make her fall in love with

an unknown ?

Suddenly there came a sickening thought.

What if it weren t an unknown? What if

she did know, or thought she did, who JohnIrons was? Scraps of a month-old conversa

tion had come back to him."

Lester, you remember Paul Smithers,

don t you ?" Pauline s question had been

off-hand, as she was adjusting her hat before

the mirror.

59

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

Oh, yes, Lester knew; Smithers was that

poet-person he of the black beribboned eye

glasses and the little black chopped mus

tache."

Tell me," she had asked, carelessly this

was after J. I. s first really daring missive" do you think he is really clever, Lester?

"

Lester, quite profanely, did not.

But, now he thought of it, had n t he come

home from the office early several times, lately,

to find Smithers s silly black ribbons dangling

over the teacups, and Pauline gazing a bit in

terestedly into those owlish, tortoise-shell eye

glasses? When was it she had asked about

him ? Was n t it yes, it must have been

just after the day J. I. had written that letter

about seeing her. By Jove, the poet had been"

quite near enough to touch her hand !

"

Lester groaned. What a fool he had been

to mention that in his letter ! Why, had n t he

kept his John Irons invisible, detached, an in

soluble mystery, instead of setting Pauline s

romantic imagination to work trying to iden

tify him amongst her acquaintances! Good

God! Could it be that, writing his aching

heart into those letters, he had been merely60

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

playing into that pale poet s languid, effemin

ate hands?

Whereat, the preliminary pleasantries with

the thumbscrews having been finished, his tor

turing fate now smilingly took up the red-hot

pincers.

That week Smithers came to dinner.

Smithers was elegant at dinner, with a pat

ronizing, Harvard drawl, with all the airs of

a genius, and a cigarette-holder seven inches

long. A separate affront was in every gog

gled glance he gave Pauline, and every smile

she sent him in return made Lester a little

faint. Continually he kept saying to himself:"

Well, at least Smithers can know absolutely

nothing of the letters";

but it was small satis

faction, for, if Pauline really believed Smith

ers to be John Irons, her unconscious thought

would instinctively encourage him. And Les

ter Hope, knowing him well, had seen at a first

glance that small-eyed Smithers was scarcely-

one to be trusted with a complaisant woman.

And, so suffering, as he told his legal anec

dotes, gallantly rallying Helen Ramsay as a

beauty and blarneying enthusiastic, spluttery

61

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

Mrs. Woodling as he might a girl, laughingeven at old Peever s monumental attempts at

the jocose, Lester Hope never once lost sight

of Smithers talkative Smithers in his poet

ical black silk stock and soft, many-plaited,

white silk shirt.

Was n t he a very cat-like, a very stealthy

black-and-white creature whom it might be un

pleasant to arouse? thought Lester, watching

him, disgusted. Think of his wife playing

with such an animal it was horrible !

Now, Pauline had other admirers in her

newly discovered intellectual world. Theycalled, they dined, they danced. They sent

their little books with the fly-leaves elabo

rately inscribed, they presented her with little

bas-reliefs and statuettes, with little colored

daubs signed prominently "A mon amie."

Smithers was but a sample of many who were

beginning to flutter about her bright person

ality. But Smithers, as the most persistent

and obnoxious of them all, Smithers the soft,

Smithers the sticky, had become Lester s ob

session. How could Pauline possibly endure

him, he wondered bitterly."

I must get rid

of Smithers!"

62

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

But, as things turned out, it was not Lester

who got rid of him, after all; it was Pauline.

Or, rather, Smithers rid them both of himself

by a characteristic form of social suicide.

"

I don t think I shall see much more of

Smithers," said Pauline, one night, after com

ing home alone and cool-eyed from a reception

to which the poet had escorted her. Smith

ers, it appeared from her subsequent reluctant

confession, was not a gentleman and had not

apparently considered her a lady. Smithers,

in short had, in the cab"

Well, don t

worry, Lester; you know you can always trust

me to take care of myself and any possible im

pertinence."

White-hot with indignation though he was

(and not without unpleasant suspicions that

perhaps Pauline had quite unconsciously en

couraged the beast), the elimination of Smith

ers certainly brought Lester a relief. Pauline

now knew, of course, that Smithers was not

the author of the John Irons letters; his vul

garity was incompatible with the romance as

it had been played. Lester had a quick bound

of spirits.

With that recrudescence of his first fresh

63

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

impulse he saw plainly now that it was not

enough to get rid of Smithers; he must, so to

speak, get rid of himself. Compunction for

the husband was retarding the lover. Nomore regrets, then; no more reproaches; Les

ter Hope must be tossed bodily overboard to

save John Irons.

The poor husband did not quite drown,

however, until one day Lester came home to

find, as he had often found of late, a vase of

roses on the library table. At sight of the

flowers he, as John Irons, had sent, he had,

heretofore, always had an uneasy feeling of

having robbed Peter to pay Paul. Not so to

day. Always before he had gingerly avoided

the subject, trying to let Pauline off from anydefinite explanation.

But to-day he looked her in the face and

asked outright :

"

Say, where the devil did

this carnival of roses come from anyway ?"

Instead of the hoodwinked husband s cus

tomary twinge of pain at her feminine evasion,

he smiled indulgently at her embarrassed,"

Oh,I got them this morning; are n t they pretty!

"

He felt only the lover s joy at getting ahead of

a rival. Was n t that card with the"

J. I." al-

64

Where did this carnival of roses come from?

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

ways missing? Pauline was already feeling

guilty. What could be more encouraging?

But his respite was short; only just long

enough to restore the victim sufficiently for

him to feel the full force of his next keen

agony. Fate had by no means exhausted the

torturing possibilities of the situation; and

fate, in grim earnest, now, laid him upon the

rack for the peine forte ct dure.

For, if you mingle contempt with jealousy,

the pain is fairly easy to endure. One s na

tive feeling of superiority soon heals the smart.

Another week of Smithers and who knows

how Lester s scorn of Pauline s taste mighthave affected his love for her? But, poison

the wound with admiration, and jealousy has

a deeper, deadlier sting. No man is so fiercely

jealous as he who suspects his best friend.

It was while he was shaving, one morning,

shaving quite happily, listening to Pauline s

voice gaily trilling in her room, that the

thought struck him. Suddenly he put down

his razor and watched a small spot of red on

his chin grow larger and larger.

67

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

No, he had not wounded himself, he knew.

That blood was really drawn by Norman Will-

yer. . . . Merry as a canary, Pauline sang on.

. . . Lester cleaned his razor and rubbed an

alum stick on his cut;but still it bled and bled.

. . . And, like a spiritual wound, his sudden

jealousy bled and bled. . . .

Had n t Pauline been a good deal with Will-

yer of late? And those long sittings in his

studio when she had posed for her portrait

what had happened? Little pictures of the

two came back to his mind. Was n t she al

ways watching him, studying him ? Was n t

she always saying how clever he was, and howsensitive ? Was n t she, in short, suspecting

Willyer of being John Irons?

Probably every man, if he would but con

fess it, admires some particular type and rec

ognizes it, when it appears, as the sort of per

son he would secretly like to be. For Lester

Hope, Willyer personified that ideal. The

best testimony to the strength and elegance of

the big blond artist with the pointed beard was

that even women s opinion that he was"

charming"

could n t damn him in the eyes

of men; no such praise can hurt a man who is

68

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

as good on a hunting trip as in a studio. But

what Lester most admired about him was that

Willyer, unlike most of the pseudo-celebrities

exploited by Mrs. Woodling & Co., knew the

difference between conversation and mere talk.

He always looked forward to seeing Will

yer ; they had tastes, and what was still

more satisfactory distastes in common ; they

often had very agreeable masculine conversa

tions in mere monosyllables. In short, there

was never that infernal sheet of plate glass

between them that Lester usually found seem

ing to shut him off from other men.

Now, in a single moment the thought of

Willyer had become sickeningly painful. If

Pauline did think Willyer was J. I., there was

trouble ahead. But how the devil was Lester

to find out?

Uncomfortable, perplexed, he entered her

room. Pauline, without turning, smiled at

him in her mirror."

Say, Pauline," he seated himself on her

bed." How many sittings did you have with

Willyer d you remember? "

As the soft lead pencil administered an ex

tra quarter of an inch to her already perfect

69

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

eyebrows, Pauline did n t really recall half

a dozen, perhaps why?Oh, it was nothing. Somebody had asked

him, that was all. Lester sat watching her,

suffering her prettiness hungry to claim it,

enjoy it.

"

Ripping studio, Willyer has, isn t it!"

(How he loathed that studio now!)" Must

be a rich place to talk in." (What had she

talked in it?) "Magnificent rugs. Like to

get him to pick some out for us. Seems to

know a lot about such things." (What other

things did Willyer know?)Oh, yes, Mr. Willyer was very clever. She

liked Willyer. So clean, and so graceful

expressive gestures, too, had n t he ? And

Pauline, rising, turned a frank gaze at her hus

band.

She had turned, however, just as frank a

gaze at him yesterday, he recalled, after she

had received such a letter from John Irons

as most wives would hesitate to show to their

husbands. "If love is a unified trinity of

emotions spiritual, mental, and physical

don t for a minute imagine that I am all Holy

70

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

Ghost ! I don t believe that any woman wants

to think that she has n t sexual attraction

well, then, why not say frankly that you have ?

You re no more an angel than I am a phan

tom, and if I were blind and deaf and dumb I

could have no greater desire to see you and

hear you and touch you !

"

The sentiment did not in the least seem to

offend her."

If I could only hear your voice,

it would tell me all I want to know," she wrote." Would it rend your delightful veil of mys

tery if you should, say, talk to me on the tele

phone? It is surely an instrument of Romance. But yet, you have such a graphic,

colorful way of revealing yourself that I

scarcely think I should be surprised if I did

hear you speak."

Lester smiled cynically. How often had he

heard it said that, when a man s wife has an

affair with another man, her husband is usu

ally the last one to hear of it. At least they

could never say that of him! And yet, what

did he know? Whatever was in Pauline s

mind was, after all, as deeply hidden from

him as any other guilty wife s secret.

71

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

Could her letter mean that his own ardent

words went perfectly, in her mind, with Will-

yer s pleasing personality?

As he watched her with Willyer, next day,

she was, for all Lester could detect, not par

ticularly happy or excited with his friend; and

Willyer, damn him, appeared perfectly natural,

frank, candid, altogether admirable, as usual.

Yet the thought that Pauline might be think

ing of Willyer as that impassioned J. I., whowas bombarding her with provocative mis

sives, kept Lester in a delirium of jealousy.

How the devil could any woman, he wondered,

resist Norman Willyer who seemed to care

nothing for any of them?

On his way downtown one morning, uncon

sciously he found himself turning in at his

club. Usually there was nobody about at this

hour, and so by one of the big windows on

the avenue he selected an easy chair and lighted

a cigar to think things over."

Oh, I say, Hope, may I speak to you a

moment ?"

A black eye-glass ribbon dangled before

him, and Lester looked up at a little black,

chopped mustache.

72

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

Before he could rise, however, a chair was

being pulled up with,"

Say, I d like to apolo

gize to you, Hope or rather, I d like to ex

plain."

Again Lester tried to escape but he

could n t. A horrid curiosity held him. Hewatched the poet as one watches a barnyard

pest, and glared." You remember," said Smithers, quite

jauntily, playing with his bamboo stick,"

that

night I took a certain lady to the Woodlings ?

Well, really I m afraid I must have quite par

donably misinterpreted something she said.

That is to say"

he waved an effeminate

hand "

she said something, or at least I un

derstood her to say something, about my writ

ing to her, you know. There was somethingof that sort, anyway. No, just wait a min

ute, please! I took it, naturally, that she

wanted me to write to her awfully queer

and all that, of course, but how the devil

could I help it? She was really, you know, if

I do say it, well, what you might call encour

aging you know what I mean ? Oh, hold

on; it was just simply a misunderstanding. I

suppose I was a little hasty in my presump-

73

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

tions, but, Lord, I don t see why she should

have taken fire the way she did, much less gonehome alone what s the matter ?

"

Lester Hope s tense fingers knew, at that

moment, exactly how Smithers s white throat

would feel if his own two thumbs should meet

on that poet s windpipe. It was hard work

controlling himself enough to say," D you

mind leaving me alone ? Or do I have to vio

late the house rules ?"

Smithers did not move.

"Good morning!" Lester repeated, rising.

The moment grew dangerous."

By Jove !

"

drawled Smithers. He wasnot looking at Lester, now ;

he was gazing out

the broad front window. He pointed with

his little bamboo stick."

I see why you took

this seat," he grinned."

Behold the beaute

ous lady in question ! I Ve seen her several

times lately like that. Of course you know

Willyer s studio is right over Oh, good

morning, Hope; yes, I m going!" And with

an ironic laugh he was off before Lester could

well, what, in "a gentlemen s club" could

he have done ?

Pauline s ermines, now, were crossing the

74

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

street beside a tall gray overcoat. Now they

were at the entrance to Willyer s studio build

ing. Now they had disappeared.

Well, thought Lester, why not? It was all

right enough, of course. Many people went

to Willyer s studio. But somehow his own

reason had deserted him, and he was the prey

of raging doubts." Have you seen Willyer lately?

"

he asked

Pauline, next morning. It was all he could do

to voice the question.

Pauline s face brightened."

Oh, Les, I

forgot to tell you. Why, yes, I had luncheon

with him at his studio, yesterday. Helen

Ramsay was there. She s so silly, lately.

She always seems to own that studio."

Did n t she run on a bit hysterically ? he

thought; wasn t there too much of Helen

Ramsay, too much explanation of that partic

ular studio party? It sounded suspicious.

Lester s mood grew darker.

That evening Willyer dropped in, as he

often did, nowadays, for a game of chess. Ofcourse it happened to be one of the few nights

that Pauline remained at home. Was it really

fortuitous? Lester wondered, as he watched

77

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

her. There was no doubt at any rate she was

posing for Willyer, at least to the extent of

making a charming figure of herself, under

the lamp, reading her book.

Ordinarily, Lester played a scientific, im

personal game, that kept him cool and unruf

fled. But to-night his heart beat passionately

in the crises of the game, and he found himself

desperately fighting a personal antagonist.

Willyer s leisurely, artistic hands over the

board maddened him. And any one who has

ever been beaten at a game of skill by one whohas also beaten him at the game of love will

know how Lester Hope felt when his antag

onist pronounced" Checkmate !

"

Willyer rose, yawned, and stood, tall and

graceful, by the mantel. Why the devil

doesn t he go home, damn him? Lester said

to himself, as he saw Pauline s eyes watchinghim admiringly.

Willyer, however, seemed disinclined to

move. For some minutes, his hands in the

pockets of his speckled gray homespun suit, he

regarded his friend quizzically. Next, he

slowly examined his cuff-links with absorbed

interest. Then his long fingers pulled

78

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

thoughtfully, lazily, at his blond Vandykebeard. Finally he broke the long silence by

remarking :

"

I say, I Ve got some news for you people.

I do hope you 11 like it. The fact is, I mabout to take the fatal plunge."

Lester stared. Pauline stared. Not a

word, till Willyer, chuckling at their surprise,

added :

" That s right. I m engaged. It s

Helen Ramsay. She said I might tell just youtwo."

Tick tick tick tick went the clock;

then,"

Well, what s the matter?" The voice

of Willyer took on a sharper, harsher tone." Can t you congratulate me ? Lord, I should

say you did n t approve !

"

Up jumped Lester and clapped him riotously

on the shoulder."

Congratulate you ! Yes,

by Jove, of course I do !

"

Grabbing Will-

yer s hand, Lester shook off the suspicions and

jealousies of a month of suffering. "Fine!

Fine! Fine! Why, I m delighted!" Heshook that hand till Willyer s eyes grew large."

Why, it s the best news I ve heard for a

year ! is n t it, Pauline ?"

Pauline s voice came calmly enough, but her

79

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

smile was queer."

Why, yes, of course !

I m really awfully, awfully pleased, Mr. Will-

yer ! Helen s such a dear I m so fond

of her. Indeed, you re both of you in

luck!"

Fairly bubbling over, now, Lester herded

him into the dining-room for an immediate

drink, Willyer, apparently, a bit puzzled byhis tardy enthusiasm. As they left, Pauline

was sitting inert. Pauline was gazing up at

her portrait with that same queer smile.

Many things he had repressed (things he

couldn t bring himself to write for fear that

Willyer might get the credit for them), now

appeared in John Irons s letters.

Was she happy? Lester learned to his sur

prise that she was not; even her"

best of hus

bands," apparently, could not make her so.

Did she love that superlative husband ? She

ignored the question.

What did she do with herself ? Unsuspectedlittle adventures she never had told her hus

band came out. It developed, for instance

she made a joke of it that Peever, dry old

80

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

Peever, had tried to make silly love to her

yes, and in Lester Hope s own library !

"

I think you were rather rude to Mr. Pee

ver, last night,"said Pauline, one day soon

after that. What could poor Lester say?As John Irons, he had already said all that was

necessary. But Peever never saw Pauline

alone again in Lester s house.

Queer, however, that it was old Peever who

speeded John Irons up. Lester, seconding

John Irons fighting toward a finish, suddenlyfound his principal a bit slow. Why, if even

Peever could put in a few strokes behind his

back, John would have to make himself more

forcibly felt.

From that day J. I. became ubiquitous.

Messengers boys, as Pauline stepped into her

cab in front of the house, handed her notes,

or flowers while Lester gazed gloomily

upon the act from behind a bedroom windowcurtain. That she might not forget JohnIrons even for a day, he had her followed;

taxicabs drew up to the curb when she emergedfrom teas, or waited for hours at her club,

ready to take her orders. How did J. I. know81

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

her habits so well ? she asked, as bewildered as

she was flattered. J. I. refused to state. But

he succeeded in raising his mystery to a sec

ond degree. Books came, confectionery carne,

flowers came. He tried jewelry but Pau

line sent the parcels back.

It was she herself who, perhaps uncon

sciously, raised the mystery still higher.

Women live mainly in the present, men in the

future. It is not man s eager desire for the

denouement that gives women pleasure in an

affair of the heart; it is the playing with pos

sibilities, the exquisite unfolding of romance.

And so, never once did Pauline ask to meet

John Irons; and Lester had, besides his own

personal energy, the accomplice of her creative

imagination.

How busy that imagination was, and how

dangerous it might be, he found out, soon

after Willyer was removed from the field of

suspicion.

He had a melancholy streak, one day; it

was after Pauline had been dining out for a

week, and he had, consequently, not seen her

even at breakfast." You were not so far wrong," he wrote,

82

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND" when you once likened me to a prisoner in

a dungeon. For all hopes I have of gaining

you, I am immured in a cell of loneliness.

What would I do without your letter every

day ? By that one window through which youshine I get all I know of happiness. For your

ray of light I watch daily, and for that one

hour I am joyful. When that gracile vision

fades, you will never know my recidivation

into the gloom of waiting!"

Reading it over, he smiled."

Recidiva

tion"

and"

gracile" were hardly in his nor

mal vocabulary, and it occurred to him that

he had done an amusing bit of unconscious

cerebration with those words. Where had he

heard them lately? Oh, yes. In Spenser

Thasp s weekly theatrical article.

Queer, too, because Thasp was Lester s bete

noir, or, more strictly, his bete rouge. It

was n t however so much Thasp s brisk red

hair and orange mustache that Lester ab

horred; it was the fact that Thasp was per

haps the most saturating talker ever tolerated

in an intellectual drawing-room; and, like

most of his species, talked mainly about him

self and his own work.

83

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

As luck ordained, Thasp appeared next day,

at one of the few dinners of Pauline s which

Lester desperate to see her, watch her,

adore her had decided to grace as host.

Thasp, he suspected, was tolerated mainly on

account of his influence with the newspapers.

Pauline never lost a chance though always

a delicate, unobvious, ladylike chance to

advertise herself. Thasp, therefore, was al

lowed to perform, and assiduously he did per

form, upon his one-stringed harp. Peever

yawned, Helen and Willyer held communion

with their eyes; Mrs. Woodling listened, be

lieving, apparently, everything he said. Pau

line s attention was a fine bit of acting until

he had talked from soup to ice, laughing heart

ily at his own wit, as such bores ever do"

In point of fact, the American stage is in

a lamentable state of recidivation. Where

are there such gracile stars as Modjeska, as

Mary Anderson and Lotta"

and so on, and

on, and on interminably." What the devil is recidivation ?

" mut

tered Willyer in Lester s ear.

His question was unanswered. Lester,

watching Pauline, had seen her stop, spoon in

84

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

air, staring at Thasp. There was an expres

sion on her face, part incredulity, part horror.

It was controlled in a moment, but until the

ladies left the room, she cast keen glances from

time to time at the critic. Apparently she

was fascinated by him.

Lester looked on, helpless. She had, of

course, been struck by those two words, both

rather unusual, and had recalled their occur

rence in the last letter from John Irons.

Thasp, scourge though he was, was indubitably

clever, not at all one to be disregarded offhand

as a possible John Irons. All that sustained

Lester, in the contretemps his own fault

was that expression of dislike on Pauline s

face. No wonder she shuddered if she were

thinking of what she herself had written

possibly to Spenser Thasp !

It was not Lester himself, this time, whohad to be saved; it was Pauline. The proofof it was that, for a week, she did not answer

John Irons s letters. Undoubtedly she was

afraid of committing herself with the critic

and was waiting for further evidence. What,

then, could be done to destroy him ?

A night of deliberation brought Lester, one

85

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

morning, to Pauline s room with the informa

tion that he was called to Washington on busi

ness. With this alibi established, that eveninghe kissed her good-by. He could hardly have

gone to Washington, however, for, two days

later, Pauline received a letter from JohnIrons stating that, for a week, his address

would be"

General Delivery, Boston."

It was a merry answer John Irons received

in Boston :

"

I met Spenser Thasp at dinner

at the Woodlings to-night," she wrote,"

and

if you will promise to forgive me, I will con

fess a shameful thing. For three days I al

most believed that you were Thasp. Don t be

insulted; really, the evidence was damning. I

was so relieved when I got your letter. It

was such a satisfaction to know that not be

ing a bird/ you could not be in two places at

once."

Exultant at this success, Lester returned

home to find that he had not only settled

Thasp, but, by his little trip, had settled al

most any possible suspect, as well. Pauline

now had her touchstone for them.

"Have you been in Boston recently?" he

heard her ask, one afternoon, at tea time, a

86

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

rather too-dashing young architect, who had

worshiped at her shrine for some weeks past.

No; he had not, it appeared, eaten brown

bread and baked beans for years. Lester

noted, with considerable glee, that afterwards,

when that suitor called, Pauline spent far less

time on the lamentable lack of prestige given to

architects as compared with all other artists.

Whether they"

signed"

their buildings or

not, she no longer seemed to care.

So Pauline applied her test, and was able to

discover, if not who John Irons was, at least

who he was not. More than once Lester was

to catch that magic word "

Boston" and see

her countenance clear at the puzzled answer:"

Why, no ! What made you think I d been

there ?"

Another candidate eliminated.

And, each time he noted her suspicions,

John Irons quickened his game. Even if it

were but a line or two, he managed to have her

receive a letter by almost every delivery. Six

hours did not pass without her being reminded

of him in some exciting way. Finally, when

every expedient he could think of had been

tried, one day Lester found his hand reaching

for the telephone.

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

He called her number; he heard her say,

"Hello!"

He tried his best to think of himself as some

short, stout person with yellow whiskers; hop

ing in that way to disguise his voice. He suc

ceeded somehow in enunciating in a very fat

tone, the name "

John Irons."

He heard her gasp. There was a long

silence. Then,"

Is it really you?"

she asked.

No answer. "Really?"

"

Yes."

Another pause."

Well, why don t you say

something?" No answer. "Can t you?""

No."

"Oh, why not?" A long wait. "Don t

you dare?"

"

No."

"

Oh, I see. Then, I suppose, I shall have

to do the talking."

"

Yes."

"

Like a game of Forty Questions?"

"

Yes."

She laughed."

Well, am I ever to knowwho you are?

"

How curiously his heart was beating! Hewas talking to his own wife, or, rather, he was

88

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

listening to her, as he had listened every dayfor years. Why should he tremble ?

" Have you seen me lately?"

"

Yes."

"Where? Oh, I forgot; you can t an-

,swer. Well, you know this is hardly fair,

making me do all the work talking. Youknow I m dying to hear your voice. Can t

you say anything besides yes and no ?"

"No."

" Are you still in love with me ?"

"

Yes." But he could hardly get it out.

And then, impulsively, he snapped the re

ceiver back on the hook. For some reason he

could n t quite bear to go on.

\

V

T N Lester Hope s private office there was a

well-worn track in the green carpet from

the door to the window. Traveling that road,

to and fro, working out difficult legal cases, he

had walked many a mile. So now he walked,

but not as a lawyer; this case was not one for

the intellect, it was for the heart.

Well, what, after six months perfervid cor

respondence with Pauline, had he accom

plished? Had his passionate attempt served

only to amuse her ? Was it merely a flirtation

by post ? He could n t quite believe it. At

any rate, the affair should now be at the boil

ing point; if he had n t yet won her, he never

would. Wherefore, at whatever the risk, the

time had come, he decided, to put his courtship

to the test and find out definitely whether he

were still only Mrs. Hope s Husband or had in

deed become Mrs. Hope s Lover.

He was sick of the suspense, sick of the

90

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

artificiality, sick of the deception. To reveal

himself, to confess the whole thing to her,

laugh over it and then to be together again

where they were before they had gone astray

how he longed for it! If Lester Hope,thrown overboard, had really drowned, his

ghost now haunted John Irons. The impos

sible, romantic situation had tired him; he

wanted reality he wanted his own wife back.

But, to get her he must win this last move!

So, many a time, up and down he paced ; manya letter he wrote before he wrote the one that,

at last, he sent her. It was short :

"

My dear:" Don t be afraid that I have lost my sense

of humor; but to-day I must be serious. At

any rate, the question I want to ask is quite in

earnest. My dear, not knowing me in the

flesh perhaps you may have really got to think

ing of me as a kind of disembodied spirit.

But I assure you I am not. I am a live man.

My love for you is real and human. It is so

great that any attempt to try to express it

would be futile. I can only trust that my sin

cerity has convinced you, that you have felt the

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

truth, and that you care, as I care. So far,

I have been able to wait and hope ; but I can t,

any more. My dear, I must know now

whether you can love me, do love me in the

way I love you. We must meet; but, before

you ever see me you must answer me. Will

you answer me? "

Next morning, Lester went downstairs early.

Pauline rose, and Pauline dressed. Down the

curly staircase, clad all in white, she came a-

singing. Thus, capriciously, once or twice a

month, this lady chose to grace her husband s

breakfast.

But to-day, when she appeared in the dining-

room, her whimsical mood perturbed him. Hefound himself watching her as one watches a

child with firearms. Why did she take this

particular morning to honor him, he wondered.

Why, as she airily sat down opposite him, had

she to be so gay, to rally him on his own

taciturnity ? For, try as he might to respond

in the same vein, that letter of his, awaiting

her, hidden in the pile beside her plate, ob

sessed him; it fascinated him like a lighted

bomb.

92

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

Laughing and chattering, she picked up her

mail and looked it over."

Oh, dear, three more wedding presents to

be bought this month !

"

she remarked, sigh

ing; "reallyit wouldn t be a bad idea, for

Helen Ramsay s, to give her one of my old

manuscripts. She has n t sold a story for ages,

poor thing! After inviting every editor in

New York to her literary dinners, too !

" And

then, while jocosely wondering what letters

he was receiving at his office, meanwhile, and

how did she know he was n t perhaps corre

sponding with some dangerous blonde her

persiflage suddenly stopped.

In her hand was a yellow envelope. She

gave him a look. For a moment she seemed

uncertain whether or not to open it; but, as his

oatmeal seemed to interest him extraordinarily

just then, she nonchalantly drew out the let

ter.

Lester, reaching for the cream, saw her face

change quickly while she read. Then, as she

laid the sheet aside, he admired her control; it

was far better than his own. She had assumed

woman s favorite disguise, a smile.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence;

93

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

quite the lady of the portrait was Pauline

Hope.

"Good-by, Pauline!"

"Good-by, Lester!"

As he left, he felt as he had often felt when,after doing all he could, he had seen a jury file

out to consider the verdict. He closed the

door. It was Pauline s turn again.

Corporations and corporation counsel, re

ceiverships, appeals, exceptions, demurrers,

rebuttals, and writs of error confused him next

day. His work was far behind; that day it fell

behind still more. Lester Hope, attorney-at-

law, sitting at a desk covered with papers,

papers, papers and a pale blue letter har

assed by questions and telephone calls and call

ers, read and reread legal documents endlessly

without comprehension. To wit:"

It is understood and agreed between the

two parties to this contract that / cannot do

what you wish / cannot!" What did that

mean? " And it is furthermore agreed that if

at any time you have no right to ask me; I

know too little of you!" Ah, little enoughdid he know, too! With a great effort he

94

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

would try to separate the two documents, law

from love, and keep"

their heirs, assigns, and

administrators" from "

I cannot answer.

You must not write to me again" but such

strange terms as"

hereunto set our hands and

seals"

would persist in getting mixed up with

still stranger sentences :

"

If you do persist

in writing, I shall be forced to place your letters

in the hands of my husband!"

All he could get through his head was that,

dreadfully, it was all over, his romance; and he

had failed. The case of"

Irons vs. Hope"

had been decided against him. He had lost

Pauline a second time!

That night he had his dinner sent into the

office and he worked long after the others had

gone. How often, of late, he had stayed there

all alone with the one light at his desk and

Pauline! But now it all seemed changed

cold, empty, desolate. It was only an office,

now; something had gone that had once made

it almost a home." You must not write to me again!" The

secret, charming creature that in this dull room

he had conjured up out of the failure of his

95

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

married life had vanished like a fairy back

again into the Unreal.

Where were those roses that bunch of red

roses ? In the library, in the dining-room, her

chamber, no sign of them he saw;and Pauline

said nothing. Yet the florist had sworn he had

sent them, that they had been received, and

with them, yes, he was sure, the card with the

inscription,"

Finis. J. I" Could Pauline

possibly have thrown them away ?

Weeks passed. ... In spite of himself, in

spite of her renewed attempts at comradeship,Lester became with his wife more what

was it distant? Self-conscious? Formal?

Without the stimulus of her letters he found

himself steadily more nervous and distraught.

His experiment had failed; things between

them were worse, rather than better.

That Pauline thought so, too, was evidenced

when, one day, she announced that she was

going to visit her mother for a month or so.

She wanted to finish her new novel in peace,

that was her excuse;but might n t she perhaps

wish peace also for her conscience or her

heart? So Lester wondered, left alone.

96

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

In the unusual quiet of the house for no

body more famous than grocers and bill-col

lectors disturbed Mrs. Hope s Husband when

Mrs. Hope was away he spent many a

dreary evening in thought. And that evening

was dreariest when with what a pang he

recognized that familiar pale blue envelope !

he received his first duty-letter from his wife.

It told of the weather, it told of the theaters,

it told of the state of her health. The tears

came to his eyes, to read her perfunctory com

monplaces dashed off in the same bold, rapid

handwriting that had indited such spirited and

gallant messages. Ah, both were drowned,

now John Irons as well as Lester Hope !

Must he give her up? As time went on,

stronger and stronger became his impulse, de

spite her command, to write to her just once

more. Would she really show the letters, con

fess everything, to her husband? And what,

in the name of nonsense, if she did? A tragic

little farce, that, for an evening by the fireside

he and Pauline pouring quicklime on the

corpse of poor John Irons!

And then, another dismal afternoon when,unable to work, he stood at his ofHce window,

97

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

moodily watching the smoke of a chimney op

posite, blown about quite as fantastically as

was he himself, the idea came to him whynot, instead of forcing her to confess, confess

himself? Why not make an end of the mystery tell the whole wretched story of his

negation, his wounded pride, his suffering, and

let come of it what would? He had lost.

The situation, at any rate could n t be worse.

More and more he grew inclined to try it. He

longed for the relief of confession. It did n t

seem possible any longer to keep his misery to

himself.

And so it was that one evening he sat wearily

down to his desk in the office, and, frowning,

inserted a sheet of paper into his typewriter.

... A half hour passed, . . . and then, al

most automatically, he began to write. . . .

It is only weak souls that are crushed by

suffering; those of firmer fiber resist to the end,

and that very resistance it is that finally forces

the revelation of oneself in bursts of power.

So, in Lester Hope s mind the tension of

months suddenly broke, and everything that he

had endured poured forth with the unconscious

energy of pure feeling.

98

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND"

I have searched my soul for phrases"

so Pauline with her facile grace had written;

but Lester Hope toyed with no such pretty

fallacy. His soul was ransacked by savage

emotions that snatched mutinously at what

terms they could find at hand and set them

furiously at work to effect their revolt. Not

like her filigree sentences did his flash and

sparkle, like jewels artfully arranged. Hetook no thought of words no adjectives he

chose for mere literary beauty. The pas

sionate, strong suffering Idea led him fiercely,

unerringly, along the old, simple, forthright

Anglo-Saxon ways. Unction is in all ele

mental impulse. True emotion has instinctive

modes; it is as crisp as childhood, as dramatic

as a tempest.

This night, Lester Hope was freeing his

mind simply and without shame. Like a pris

oner who for months has been starved and tor

tured, now, bursting the bonds of discretion,

bold Truth sprang out of him . . . glowingwith his new liberty, rejoicing in self-expres

sion, he wrote on and on. ...It was long after midnight when he awak

ened from his absorption. Where was he?

99

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

... He looked curiously about saw that he

was in a room an office there was a filing

cabinet oh, yes, his office, of course! Heseemed to have come back from somewhere.

The floor was strewn with papers. Howmany papers there were ! He picked them up,

and arranged the sheets, wondering why he

had such a queer sensation such a relief.

It was as if a high wind that had long been

blowing in his mind had abated and he was

at peace.

It was the calmest moment he had known for

many months when, lighting a cigar and tilting

comfortably back in his chair, he began to read

what he had written. When he had finished

he was almost afraid of it. No, it was still hot

from his brain s mint; he would put it awaytill he could get a cooler, better judgment of it

to-morrow. In a reverie he finished his cigar.

Then folding the sheets into his pocket, he went

home.

, On the morrow, however, after re-reading it

calmly in his library, he saw that it would never

do to send it to Pauline. Not, at least, in that

form. His pride forbade it. He had begunto tear up the pages, regretfully one by one,

100

MRS. HOPE S

when he stopped, his eye fixed on the Winged

Victory and then

On the shoulders of his first idea, another

had suddenly vaulted, higher, more ambitious,

more bold, and waved him on. Now he saw

clearly what to do. That moment was cli

mactic;for an instant he was more than happy ;

he was exultant, thrilled. Emancipation!

Insistent, that idea drew him every night

after dinner back into that creative trance to

write and rewrite, forge and file, hammer and

polish, over and over and over. The vivid moment passed; and from now on his work was

like a hard, slow, laborious fight, night after

night of fatiguing effort, concentrated exer

tion, pressure. Only the artist knows that

exquisite, that almost intolerable mixture of

pleasure and pain. Only the artist and the

mother suffer that delicious agony of creation.

Lester Hope wrote on and on. Even after

Pauline had returned, he spent every evening

writing at the office.

And lo, as he wrote, the haunting ghost of

his stultified self grew dim and dimmer. . . .

Mrs. Hope s Husband was vanishing! ... on

and on he wrote ... on and on and on. . . .

101

VI

THEREwas a way Pauline had, whether

she had been away a minute, an hour,

or a day, of beginning to speak to him before

entering the room, as if continuing a conversa

tion she had only just left. One night toward

one o clock, Lester, looking over her letters in

the library, had scarcely time to throw them

into a lower drawer of his desk and kick it shut

before he heard her voice in the hall. Snatch

ing a copy of" Tom Jones," he began to pre

tend to read it, upside-down."

Oh, you really ought to have been there

to-night, Lester ; it was so interesting !

"

and,

appearing in the opening of the portieres,

Pauline continued, yawning prettily,"

I mafraid you 11 get awfully stodgy staying by

yourself all the time."

Upon his forehead she pressed a dutiful

kiss; listless, she dropped upon the couch and

began abstractedly to draw off her long suede

102

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

gloves. Usually, Pauline came home in high

spirits with a lively budget of gossip, and

would listen to nothing till she had told it all.

But this evening to Lester s questions she gave

only an absentminded,"

Oh, yes, perhaps,"

twirling her rings dreamily, or a remote,"

No,

not exactly"

;and gradually the scene dropped.

After a while, she arose restlessly and

walked to the fireplace. She stood for some

time as if she had forgotten what she was

going to do. Finally she roused; and when

she turned, he noticed that she had more color

than usual." Some feminine tiff," thought Lester, re

garding her with a husband s eye,"

or else it s

that infernal lobster Newburgh they have at

the WoodlingsV But his diagnosis, like most

husbands,was incorrect.

"

Oh, Lester, I had a talk with Peever to

night. Remember how afraid I used to be of

him?" A little nervous laugh (what did

that mean?)"

Well, he s afraid of me, now.

About a new author he s discovered or

rather he has n t discovered at all;it seems he s

quite a mystery. Anyway, Peever s perfectly

mad over this man s work, whoever he is.

103

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

It s a short novel. A sort of confession, in a

way, I believe an imaginary biography, or

something like that."

She was back on the couch again, speaking

a bit excitedly, watching the paper cutter in

Lester s hand waving slowly back and forth."

Why, Peever said he sat up last night and

simply bawled over it. Can you imagine

Peever s ever bawling over anything, Les?

And he s going to let me read the proofs.

I m awfully why, what s the matter?

What a peculiar expression! Oh, well, youneed n t smile, Lester

; evidently the book is

unusually strong and original. Why, Peever

says it actually bleeds !

"

She took a new, quick look at him, saw the

paper cutter now calmly slicing an imaginarycake on the table, and added :

"

John Irons,

the man s name is."

No response: but the paper cutter had

stopped." Remember him, Les ?

" As she

watched him, the paper cutter tapped the table

slowly, very slowly; then it was laid gently

down.

She advanced with caution :

"

Why, he s

104

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

the man who wrote me about reading my char

acter from my vocabulary. You thought it was

so clever."

"

Clever !

"

Lester smiled enigmatically, and

carefully inspected the end of his cigar. "I

thought he was an ass!"

A quick frown marked Pauline s displeasure.

There was a pregnant silence; then, shrugging,

she rose languidly and drawing the flowers

from her corsage, she arranged them in a vase

thoughtfully. Turning at last, sweetly she

smiled at him; then,

"

Well, what have youbeen doing all the evening, Lester?" Her

tone had the far-away indifference of one who

says :

" Remember me to your mother," or,"

If there is anything I can do, let me know."

That night he lay awake for long. The let

ter he had started to Pauline, the letter that,

running away with him, had developed in such

unexpected fashion, she would read, now in

type ! and all the world, too, might read it.

His novel had been accepted !

But, after all, what did that matter, now?The writing of it had been not a quest for

fame, but a spiritual experience, a passion a

105

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

cri du cceur. He smiled, recalling how often

he had heard Pauline say,"

Oh, I just love to

write!"

So he, too, had hoped some day to sit

quietly down with paper, fountain pen, and a

box of cigars, and satisfy the secret desire

which, ever since he had first loved Pauline,

he had sacrificed to make her ambitions paramount.

How strange, now, seemed that pleasant,

romantic view of literary composition! Hethought of those nights at the office as havingbeen crammed with infinitely harder, more ex

hausting work than ever he had put on Black-

stone, Torts, or Contracts. And so, now, the

fact that Peever approved his book interested

him no whit; what did interest him and kept

him so long awake was: how would it affect

Pauline ?

" Your little novel may have a fair success,"

Peever wrote to John Irons," and we shall be

glad to put it into type as soon as you can call

in and sign the contract." Peever said noth

ing whatever about"

bawling"

over the book,

but he did rather suspect (from the address),

that"

John Irons" was a pseudonym.

106

There was a small oblong hole in the paper, through which, quiteunsuspected, he could watch his wife

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

John Irons refusing to call, however, Peever

got no nearer the mystery of its authorship.

Following the agreement he reluctantly mailed

(wherein John Irons became a"

Party of the

Second Part") came, a week or so later, the

proofs, a jolly fat roll filling Box 1711; and

then, behold, one evening in the library, ap

peared a similar fat roll in the hands of

Pauline !

Luxuriously reclining, propped with cush

ions on the big leather couch, she began to read

the sheets. Settled back in his Morris chair,

comfortably, Lester Hope began to read the

evening paper. After a while, she was sitting

up straighten After a while, he was sitting

up straighter. After a while she moved to an

easy chair nearer the lamp.

Now in Lester s newspaper, that evening,

he had just noticed a short legal item; and, as

Pauline read on, he reached for the scissors

and snipped it neatly out. Queerly enough,after he had removed the clipping there was a

small oblong hole in the paper, through which,

as through a little window, he could, and he

did, quite unsuspectedly, watch his wife.

The amused smile a bit patronizing, even,

109

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

at first had already given way to a look of

intense interest absorption. At times lay

ing down the sheets she would sit gazing off,

lost; while Lester ostentatiously rustled his

paper or lit cigars, as one engrossed in the

Law, to whom mere Literature was a silly

pastime.

But she had not read long before he found

the look in her face growing still more fascinat

ing. Her lips moved, her brows drew down.

And finally, through his little Judas-hole,

Lester saw in his wife s eyes something that

gave him a grim pleasure tears !

He saw her dash them off. She rose,

proofs in hand."

I m getting rather sleepy,

Les," she said,"

I think I 11 go up to bed."

After those dull blue portieres had closed

upon her abrupt" Good

night," Lester Hopesmoked, smoked, cigar after cigar. ... At

one o clock, when he went upstairs, he noticed

that there was a light in her room. Pausing a

moment by her door, he listened ; why, was

that Pauline sobbing?

Tears, yes; one sometimes sheds tears; but

one doesn t sob aloud over mere fiction.

no

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

What did that sobbing mean? Should he

knock at the door ? No. No he would

go on.

Next morning, however, it was the aristo

cratic lady of the portrait who came down to

him; her eyes were hard and bright. A fort

night passed. One evening he patronizingly

picked up a copy of a new book," The Book

of Pride," which had appeared mysteriouslyon the library table, and idly turned the pages.

Far from idly had he turned those pages whenhe first received from the publisher that verybook !

Pauline remarked casually that the novel

seemed to have caught the public. The re

views were better than enthusiastic; they were

causing discussion; everybody was reading" The Book of Pride," and wondering who

John Irons really was. Peever had told her,

in fact, that the first edition was already sold

out.

All this neither interested nor surprised him.

What did surprise him, however, was a remark

she made, later, after he had acknowledged

having read the book.

in

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND"

I like the heroine, rather," said Lester."

That s just the one I dislike," Pauline re

plied." She s a perfect minx."

Lester smiled."

I m afraid you don t quite

understand her." And then he added, reflec

tively,"

I think the author did, though.""

John Irons ?"

Pauline took up the novel

and began thoughtfully to turn the pages.

"Of course any one like that is fascinating to

read about, but I mean well, actually to live

with, you know, I m afraid she d be trying,

at least."

He had another surprise when, one morning,he caught a first sight of the extraordinary ap

pearance of Post Office Box No. 1711.

Receiving now no letters from Pauline, it

had been over a week since he had looked into

that box. But this morning it was so full of

letters that, when he opened the door, they

poured out, tumbling upon the tiled floor.

Amazed, he tore one open. Why, it was as

if he were back at that happy, suburban break

fast table again with Pauline listening to the

first flattering tributes to her stones ! But no ;

as he walked along, dipping into another and

another, these"

charmed-with-its"

and "

in

ns

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

dignants,"these young lady letters of praise

and spinsters disapproval were now the ridicu

lous gratuities of his own literary success!

No, he was not running for the 7.55, proud

of Pauline s prestige, he was proceeding se

dately to his office quite unmoved by the thirty-

two letters from strangers testifying to the

popularity of John Irons.

That superior, unmoved serenity, however,

received a shock when, skimming the pile of let

ters at his desk, from "

so human and so con

vincing"

to" no man who really loved would

ever act like that," he came unexpectedly uponone from Pauline! Crowded in and lost

amongst all the others, she seemed pathetic.

"

My dear John Irons:11

1 have read it ! What an alluring plot !

You won t find many women, I m afraid, who

will openly approve a hero who refuses to

marry his sweetheart just because she had sud

denly become famous;but all the same you re

right, and every woman will secretly sympathize with him, as I certainly do, J. I. Whatever the feminists say, there is n t a womanworth having, no, for that matter, not the

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

stoutest, mannishest, most militant standard-

bearer in the Suffrage Parade who does n t, at

heart, wish her lover to dominate. That s

what lover means, in woman-talk. Strengthof mind and strength of body that s what

women want; they still love to be mastered

at least / do, anyway. That s the surest wayto be happy. I know that well. Women love

villains (the right kind of villains), and brutes

attractive brutes, at least. Surely an artist,

a creator like you, will know what I mean." Don t try to deny that the novel is the

story of your o\vn life; I feel it, I know it.

No doubt you have paraphrased the actual facts

beyond all recognition to protect that girl, but,

oh, you must have lived those emotions, or

never, never could you have made the story

so bitey and so bitter. At first I hated yourheroine. Then I pitied her. How you suc

ceed in making one love that woman, I don t

see. No doubt because you have loved her

vain and spoiled though she was." And talk about telling my character from

my vocabulary, what about wounded pride

and shame and lost self-respect and hu

miliation ? Why, I could make columns and

114

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

columns of your pet words that show how you

must have suffered, even if the whole book

itself weren t full of pin-pricks! Why, J. I.,

I actually cried to think I had written that

cruel letter to you. Who are you? What

are you ? Where are you ? Secrecy hid

den*

reserve masque concealed

you must be as subtle and as proud as Satan !

"

Altogether the book had so strange an ef

fect upon me that I found myself reading it

as if it were a letter to just Me. Was n t that

what your daring and flattering mysterious

dedication meant? It brought you nearer to

me than all your letters. Who are you? I

feel as if you were right in the next room and

I could n t open the door ! I get such mysterious glimpses through the keyhole, though;

and I can almost recognize your voice! But,

whoever you are, I am sure you re a genius.

Oh, I m afraid of you, now, J. I. What could

you ever have seen in me? But in all hu

mility I say, now if you wish it I hope

you do ! I shall be so glad to see you"

So far, he had read with a pleasant excite

ment; but "I shall be so glad to see you"

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

brought a frown. See him! That would

never do. She had had her chance;it was too

late, now. The next line deepened the furrow

between his eyes."

that is, if you aren t

now too famous for me."

" Famous !

"

the frown changed to a

sneer. Was n t it just because he was "

fa

mous/ as she called it, or whatever it was

that all these letters and the literary gossip

proved, that Pauline had suddenly affected this

new interest in John Irons? With her whole

little hero-worshiping world gabbling about

the" Book of Pride," of course she could n t

afford to let the mysterious author go !

No, he d be damned if he d answer the let

ter. If she wanted him, now, only because he

was famous but there he stopped ;he smiled.

Of all insidious drinks, perhaps none turn

the head so effectively as those that are smooth

and sweet. Fame, too, is dangerously sweet.

For three weeks Lester Hope had been tasting

praise and publicity in daily doses. Careless as

he had been at first of any recognition, he

could n t forever ignore the amusing worldly

rewards of his literary effort. Now, for the

first time, he realized that no longer was he

116

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND"

Mrs. Hope s Husband." He was "

the Author of," he had a

"tag";he was the

" famous"

John Irons. In short he had" done something !

"

" Where are you going to-night, Pauline ?"

he asked, one evening, wandering debonairly

into his wife s room to find her dressing."

Oh, just the Woodlings . Hand me that

brooch, will you, Les ?"

He handed it to her with a playful gesture;

she did not notice it. Then, hands in pockets,

he regarded her admiringly. She was putting

an ornament in her hair.

Said Lester,"

I believe 1 11 go along with

you."

She stopped, hands upraised, and stared at

him. Then :

"

Oh, I m awfully glad!"

He noticed her equivocal accent, and smiled.

Nevertheless, to the Woodlings he went that

night, and, moreover, he thoroughly enjoyed

mingling again with those who had " done

something." Self-consciousness was gonefrom Lester Hope. He cared no longer howhe appeared nor what people thought of him.

He neither posed nor felt ashamed. His se-

117

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

cret so sustained him that the very way he

entered a room was different.

Not even when he was introduced as"

Mrs.

Hope s Husband "

did he lose his equanimity.

The bony dowager of the emeralds he found

himself actually enjoying this evening as an

excellent comedy character part. He enjoyed"

my daughter Pearl." Why, in this mood, he

could have enjoyed even talker Thasp, the

Bore Royal.

But, after all, was n t it really himself that

he was most enjoying? Haroun Al-Raschid,

no doubt, never felt himself quite so much a

sultan as when incognito on the streets of Bagdad, he was clapped familiarly on the shoulder

by a porter, or asked to help a blind beggar.

So, hearing John Irons s name, and the" Book

of Pride"

continually buzzing about him, Les-

er Hope (as one who fumbles a diamond in his

pocket) diverted himself with his paradox,

marveling what would happen should he murmur into the jeweled ear that never yet had

listened to his words :

"

Florrie Woodling,behold me, your latest lion !

"

Not that he had the slightest desire to do

so. What overt praise could equal the piquant118

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

flattery of overhearing himself and his work

discussed? Indeed, so delightfully superior

did he feel in his modest disguise that few

farces had ever pleased him as did a little

dialogue he listened to while loitering alone bythe palms. A peep through the leaves showed

him that others, also, might assume that modest

disguise !

Behind his beribboned goggles, Smithers

was looking more than usually important, to

night. He was evidently enjoying himself."

I believe you are he !

"

said Helen Ram

say, shaking a coy ringer at him."

Now,are n t you?

"

Smithers, besides looking important, looked

wise." You don t dare say you re not, at any

rate !

"

she insisted.

Smithers, besides looking important and

wise, looked mysterious."

My dear Miss Ramsay," he drawled," what in the world is the use of my saying

anything at all about it? Suppose I do denyit what would that prove? If I really were

John Irons, wouldn t I deny it, also? I d

have to, to defend my secret, wouldn t I?"

119

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

And with a bland smile Smithers tactily as

sumed the laurels.

And with a smile equally bland Lester Hope,almost as invisible to Mrs. Woodling s clever

guests as was John Irons himself, wandered

and wondered like a pleased ghost through the

evening s entertainment, not noticing this time

the adulation paid to his wife, but pausingoften idly to twist his mustache and that little

tuft below his lip, while maidens exclaimed,"

Oh, it must be Spenser Thasp, I m sure !

"

or smiling cynically at,"

Why not old Peever,

sly old dog, himself?"

No one asked Lester Hope s opinion of the

popular mystery; no one accused him of beingother than a rather poetic looking tall lawyer.

Helen Ramsay Willyer, coming upon him

thus alone with his diverting thoughts, smirked

coquettishly."

Lester, you re looking much

better, lately, d you know it ?"

she said." Somehow you re more well, as you used

to be; you have more animation. Why, posi

tively, I think you re growing handsome !

What have you done to yourself? Lester

Hope, are you in love ?" He admitted it

frankly.

120

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

Willyer, tall and blond, looking on with a

smile, inspected Lester critically." Helen s

right, Hope,"said he.

"

I ve noticed it for

some time. I ve made a study of your face,

you know ;I Ve always wanted to paint your

portrait, but there has always been somethingthat baffled me something I could n t quite

decide upon in it. I ve got it, now, though,and I believe I could get you onto canvas."

Said Pauline, after their return home, quite

in her old mood of gossip,"

Oh, Lester, youshould have heard that near-sighted old Mrs.

Poppity gushing over me to-night. She was

so lackadaisical and so far away! She said,"

Oh, Mrs. Hope, when did you first find youhad this power?

"

" And d you know what I said to her, Les

ter? I just took out my powder puff, and I

powdered my nose, and I said in just exactly

as soulful a tone as hers, Always Mrs. Pop-

pity ;I have always known it ! But wait a

moment. Listen! The joke of it was, myacting was quite lost on her. She had al

ready begun on Peever. She was asking himwho that splendid distinguished looking manwas, over there. He looked so like a genius !

"

121

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

Pauline rose, gaily smiling, and touched him

mischievously on the shoulder." And who

d you think it was, Lester?" Pauline broke

into laughter."

It was you!"

It was his turn to laugh when alone in the

library after she had gone upstairs, he recol

lected his pique at not having been recognized

long ago as a potential celebrity. Now, al

though unconscious of betraying any visible

trace of having won a personal victory, that

mystic difference between ability in the bud

and the full flower of achievement, the pungent,

psychic perfume of expression, of success,

was beginning to affect those about him, de

spite all his attempts at concealment. AlreadyHelen had noticed it in his face, and so had

Willyer even near-sighted old Mrs. Pop-

pity ! Why, then, had n t Pauline ?

That it was only because she was so near to

him and so familiar, that it was because she

was obsessed with John Irons, he decided,

when next day he read :

"

My dear J. L :

"

Why don t you answer ? Are you always

going to be merely a romantic ghost? I can t

122

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

stand it any longer. I have always been afraid

of ghosts, J. I., and you haunt me day and

night, as if I had murdered you. Well, per

haps I did when I wrote you that cruel letter,

so long ago. But if I could only see youdo let me see you ! I could tell you, perhaps,

just why I refused to let you write to me, and

then you would forgive me. Do say you will !"

Oh, yes, he thought, bitterly, tantalizing

enough it must be for poor Pauline to know

that, when John Irons was a nobody, she had

cast him aside. Well, she would have to take

the consequences. He was by no means ca

joled by her flattery.

No, indeed. That flattery, now, was becom

ing so frequent that it had begun to lose its

spice. He got it not only in letters, from the

newspapers and reviews, but it was served, hot

and crisp, in his own dining-room. It was

more usual nowadays at those little literary

dinners that were making Pauline as a hostess

in her way quite as noted as Mrs. Woodlingin hers, to see the foot of the table occupied byMrs. Hope s Husband. Suave, smiling, hos

pitable, he was the most charmingly harmless

host ever intellectually ignored. And the most

123

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

hospitable :

" A little more champagne, Mrs.

Woodling?" "Another cognac, Peever?"

Unnoticed was the new twinkle in Lester

Hope s eye. He felt as if John Irons were

surreptitiously kicking him, under the table." A very nice chap, that husband of Mrs.

Hope s, isn t he?" So people obviously

thought, as they talked to Pauline and her as

sorted authors."

Such large boxes of such

large cigars! Yes, and so soon after the

dessert, too; not a second of suspense! Such

pleasant compliments, and such affable ways!

Say, we must have him to dinner next week.

He M be so attentive to Cousin Dorothy of

Toronto he 11 take her right off our hands,

poor thing. She hates literary talk, and they 11

hit it off beautifully !

"

And meanwhile," Have you read The Book

of Pride ?"

But the pretty, privately printed

poetess beside him had turned away even be

fore he answered, and was already learning of

Peever, Peever purring over his port, that"

Why, d you know, this man Irons has n t

even yet cashed the cheque I sent him for an ad

vance on royalties. Eccentric chap, evidently."

Lester poured more port and encouraged him.

124

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND" One of these temperamental artistic crea

tures apparently no idea of money."

Lester s sudden grin caught Peever s eye,

and Peever grinned also."

I suppose, Hope,as a business man, you can hardly understand

that, eh ? Yes, just a very little this port is

excellent ! Well, there s one thing you do un

derstand, anyway, Hope, you know good port

ha, ha, ha!"

Laughter; and a sweet smile from Helen

Willyer to little Lester."

That heroine of Irons s is a fascinating

character," Peever continued to his port," ex

asperating, though, as the modern literary

woman is bound to be present company,"

he waved his glass to Pauline"

of course ex-

cepted! Wilful, vain, spoiled.""

Oh, no, not exactly spoiled, surely," said

Lester hotly."

Why don t you see, she

only"

But nobody was listening to Mrs. Hope s

Husband. Amidst the crackling crunch of

celery stalks, the incoming of glasses of pink

punch, and the silent offerings of two impas

sive, unfathomable maids, the guests were

agreeing that John Irons s heroine was an ad-

125

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

mirable portrait of a familiar type of over-esti

mated celebrity." For my part, I don t see how her lover

ever stood her," said Pauline." He ought to

have boxed her earsJ Now, if / were ever like

that"

"

Oh, you d be fascinating, too, in JohnIrons s

eyes," said Helen; "it s quite obvious

that he thought her charming, at least."

" Did n t he prove that she was charming?"

Lester again ventured,"

Is n t it his success

just that he did vindicate her apparent van-

ity?"

Several impatient looks at him indicated

plainly that he had said quite enough, as an

amateur, amongst technical experts far more

competent to criticize. Mrs. Woodling, how

ever, as a professional hostess, was permitted

an ex-ofhcio word.

Thrilled, yes, almost agonized had Mrs.

Woodling been by the" Book of Pride." And,

"Ah," she moaned,"

if I could only get hold

of Mr. Irons, I d give him a reception such

as"

up rolled her eyes as if only the heavenly

hosts could compete with hers, in splendor."

Ah, such a brilliant light to be hid under so

126

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

mysterious a bushel. It s so quaint to be shy,

nowadays, isn t it, Mr. Hope?"

Pauline did n t think John Irons was neces

sarily shy. Nor apparently did Helen Will-

yer, who looked suddenly very knowing and

whose freckled cheeks blushed through her

powder. She started to speak." D you

know "

but the talk had already become general and unctuous with adjectives of praise.

Eagerly Helen watched her chance, as they

wondered if John Irons could be a womanhorrid thought if the book wasn t perhapstoo true to be acknowledged, and if it would

sell a hundred thousand, and if it would be

dramatized." D you know, I wrote

"

Helen began

again, when again she was submerged in the

conversational flood. Still she hung on till a

pause gave her, at last, her chance." D you know, I wrote to John Irons a while

ago, and"

ff You wrote to him ?"

Pauline faced her

like a tigress.

The company sat, spellbound. Helen wasnow easily the heroine of the party.

"

Yes,

and he answered me !

"

127

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND" What did he say?" Everybody leaned

forward. Lester leaned forward.

Helen took her time, gave a proud glance at

Willyer, and smiled."

Well, he was most

kind and most interesting. Of course, he

did n t exactly tell who he was, but well, I

don t think, really, I ought to repeat just what

he said. It was confidential."

Lester took an olive, bit it, and watched

Helen, hinting and bridling as she held the

center of the stage. Now, it was true that,

amongst a mass of letters he had found in Box

1711, one morning, forwarded from Peever s

publishing house, there had been a sentimental

note from Mrs. Willyer. As the audience

pleaded with her for more light, he tried to

recall just what he had written in answer. Tothe best of his knowledge it had run about like

this:

"

My dear Mrs. Willyer:"

I am sincerely grateful to you for your ap

preciation of my work, and thank you for yourkindness in telling me of it."

But if the scene was comic to him, Pauline,

by what he could read of her face, found it

128

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

tragic. So darkly did she regard her dear

friend Helen that, when the guests had gone,

he could not forbear to remark, easily,"

I say, Helen Willyer looked well to-night,

didn t she? Almost beautiful."

"

Beautiful!"

replied Pauline with asperity,"

I thought she looked like a fright. I never

saw her so unbecomingly dressed !

"

What more she thought was evidenced next

day in her letter to John Irons:

" Who are you ! I simply must know I

must see you. I don t care whether you are

deaf or dumb or blind, a cripple or deformed,

red, black, or yellow. I can t bear it not to

have you write Oh, I must see you I

must!"

The letter left him cold. Her pride, of

course, had been piqued, that was all. She

was envious and feared that Helen would capture the hero of the hour.

And, since as a lover he had failed to win

her, why pursue the correspondence further as

a celebrity to please her vanity? No. Hesat down to finish her off with a last letter in

the grand manner. If Pauline would take the

129

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

bit in her teeth and try to run away with him,

he would have to steer her toward the brink of

a chasm so deep that she would simply have to

stop, a precipice she would never dare to jump.Pauline was proud of her position, her name,

and fame. A little spoiled, of course, she

was. Her head was turned, but was still well

set on her shoulders no danger of her los

ing it for a man she had tossed aside so

cavalierly a man absolutely unknown to her.

That scandal and disgrace was impossible for

Mrs. Lester, much less for Mrs. Pauline Hope.And so, with one of those crafty smiles a

husband, be he never so much in love, some

times indulges in, secretly, he sat down to end

the romance beyond recall.

fe

My dear Pauline:"

Yes, I will meet you ; but only on one

condition. I love you are ordinarily silly,

meaningless words. What I mean by them is

that, if I cannot be first, the only one in your

life, I prefer to be nothing. But, if you are

ready to give up everything, yes, I mean it,

everything your husband, your home, your

comfort, your reputation, and face the world

130

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

with me then set your own time and place

and I shall be there and, whatever may come,

ready to protect you always. If not, then this

is

The End."

This rash epistle he sent by special deliv

ery ;when he reached home he knew it must al

ready have been delivered. Pauline, however,showed no sign of excitement; seldom had he

seen her so calm. Undoubtedly she had given

up all hope of attaching John Irons s scalp to

her belt. Well, he thought, thank heaven, the

sorry farce which had kept him so long in a

fool s paradise was now played out. He and

Pauline would jog on together; and she would

never know.

He was, next morning, searching absent-

mindedly for some court-plaster in her cham

ber, when the half-opened door of a closet

where she kept her hats caught his eye. Some

thing (why, that wasn t like a hat!) in the

shadow (what were those brown things

rosesf) attracted him.

Nearer, he saw, attached to the withered,

discolored flowers, a card :

"

FINIS. J. I."

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

He stared at it uncomprehending, then he

could n t quite believe it but, yes, they were

the same. His roses ! So that was what had

become of them she had kept them! Thenhe had won! He had won! Pauline loved

him! He rejoiced. But no, not him, either;

she loved John Irons. He sickened. But he

was John Irons yes, he must rejoice ! JohnIrons must win that he might win as Lester

Hope.

Slowly he walked downstairs and, hesitat

ing, stopped at the library door. Through the

slit of the portieres he saw her bending over

her desk, writing she was smiling, trans

figured.

No, not for many, many months had he seen

that once-familiar look of youth and romantic

love. With that happy, rapt expression, why,she might have been Pauline-of-the-Violets !

How often, writing to her in his office, he had

longed for a vision of that mysterious inner

self of hers, for a glimpse underneath the mask

she always wore, now, when they were to

gether.

Well, there, at last, she was not his wife

his secret correspondent. He knew that she

132

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

was writing to John Irons. He knew that she

cared for John Irons. But that he himself was

John Irons, try as he might, somehow he

could n t feel. To him, also, John Irons was a

ghost.

Lost in that reverie, he had scarce time to

escape before she had risen and was comingtoward him. As the chameleon changes, some

where between that table and that door she

changed; and it was now Mrs. Hope, Mrs.

Pauline Hope, who found him in the dining-

room, and, smiling calmly, handed him a let

ter. For a moment he stared at her, wonder

ing that women could thrive, yes, and growfair in an atmosphere of duplicity that would

suffocate a man." D you mind mailing this letter for me,

Lester?"

she said, placidly."

I ve just writ

ten to that mysterious Irons person"

she

hesitated"

about his book. Every one s

talking about him so, I do hope I can find out

who he is. He may answer me. Don t put it

in your pocket now, and forget it !

"

He did not put it in his pocket. He did not

forget it. Once safe out of sight and he was

reading:

133

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

"My dear J. L:" You know I am romantic ;

I always was.

I always shall be, I suppose. And so it makes

me feel appallingly grown up to have to say

it, but what you ask is really quite too rash

yes, it s too romantic even for romantic me.

As a writer, I simply adore the idea;

it s de

licious. But as a flesh-and-blood woman of

twenty-eight, living on West Seventy-second

Street, New York City, in this year of our

Lord, well, the plan won t quite stand up

straight, exactly; it tumbles over in my mind." And then, it is n t quite fair, is it, J. I. ?

You say you have seen me, but I have never

seen you. To be sure mentally, even spirit

ually, I do feel that I know you rather better

than most women know their husbands, at least

better than I do mine and yet, as you say,

you are not a phantom. You are a man.

There s no doubt about that, after your wonderful book! An actual, face-to- face meeting

well, it does have, you must admit, possi

bilities for surprise as great possibilities as

a first letter from a man you ve known all

your life! And it takes so little to destroy an

illusion! Not that I m afraid I m not a

134

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

bit afraid; but still I bope you won t insist on

an unconditional surrender in advance. I re

spect you, I admire you beyond words but

whether I love you or not I cant say till I see

you and if I could, I wouldn t. There!

If you do love me as you say, trust me. Let s

just see what will happen when the curtain

rises on you and"

PAULINE."

But already those roses, those old, faded

roses, had reassured him, warmed him toward

her. Slight evidence, perhaps, of her sin

cerity, but it gave him a welcome excuse for be

lieving her letter. He was sure at least that

she was not merely tuft-hunting. And if he

had not succeeded in winning her acknowl

edged love (the thing was impossible, he

saw that, now) he had at least, as John

Irons, reestablished the old relation of mental

equality and camaraderie. That much, then,

he would accept as his victory. And so now,

to have the mystery over, he would explode his

bomb and blow the romance to bits.

He wired her merely," How ? When ?

Where?" Her answer came post haste the

same afternoon.

135

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

"My dear J. I.:

"

Oh, I knew that if you really loved me youwould be magnanimous. And the only way to

prove that I appreciate your self-denial is to

acknoweldge now what I never dared to ex

press before. I wrote you once that you had

fascinated me, but what I did n t write was

that long before our correspondence was cut

short I knew quite well that I was dangerously

near falling in love with you. Indeed, I ended

it all only because I was afraid it was

too dangerous. Didn t you understand? I

simply could n t bear the deceit I felt too

ashamed and guilty. That was why I forbade

you to write any more it seemed impossible

to risk the consequences of letting myself go,

but you will never know what a struggle with

myself that decision cost me. Then I tried to

forget you ;but I did n t, I could n t. I felt

perfectly lost without your letters. And now

your book has prevented my ever being able to

forget you. It has affected me so that it is

more dangerous than ever for us to meet

but, meet you I shall. I have to. I must know

who you are !

"

136

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

There was, in postscript, an address where

he might meet her he recognized it as the

Willyer s apartment, and remembered that

the Willyers were away. The next evening at

nine!

Now he was in for it. And now, at last, he

was all John Irons, rejoicing in his success.

Lester Hope could wait. As John Irons he

would win, and then

That night Lester dined alone, not knowingwhat he ate, and went to a theater, not know

ing what he saw. He left, next morning, with

out having seen Pauline. Little work was

done, that day, at the office of Lester Hope,

Attorney-at-Law. He was too busy preparingfor the death of John Irons. After to-morrow

night his rival would be no more.

137

VII

INsomewhat the mood of one who, with

ticket ready and trunks strapped, sits wait

ing, with a little useless time on his hands,

before the carriage calls to take him to the

train, Lester Hope in the library was attempt

ing rather unsuccessfully to read the evening

paper. It was his own thoughts rather than

the gathering dusk that prevented him.

Pauline, when he had come in, was not at

home; but he had since heard her enter and go

upstairs. He did not call to her, but waited

patiently, or impatiently, for dinner to be an

nounced. It promised to be rather interest

ing, he thought, that dinner with a wife on the

eve of her clandestine meeting with a lover.

It would be an occasion not many husbands

had the opportunity and fewer still the desire

of anticipating.

A quick click of the curtain rings aroused

him from his reverie. "Are you there, Les

ter?"

138

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

Pauline, entering, switched on the electric

light. The tall library clock was just then

striking seven. Lester dropped his paper and

watched her. What feminine casuistry would

she use to explain her absence to-night, he won

dered; or would she indeed vouchsafe to ex

plain it at all?"

I m going to dine out with that is, I ve

got a little dinner to-night." That was all;

except that she showed some curiosity as to

whether or not he was to be at home this eve

ning.

No, this evening, Lester was thinking of go

ing out himself.

For a while she stood, absorbed in her

thoughts. Her gloves seemed to require con

siderable buttoning. Then she took up a tulip

from a bowl. Now, to most persons the odor

of a tulip is far from fragrant ; but, by the wayPauline smelled of this one, it might have been

a lily-of-the-valley."

Will you be home early ?"

she asked

finally.

Lester could n t say. Would Pauline ?

The tulip was thrown aside; she stood si

lently while the clock ticked six or seven sec-

139

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

onds. Then, gazing down at the open fire, she

replied quietly," Would you care very much if

I never came home, Lester ?" And then,

dropping into a chair, she turned to him to

watch the effect of her words.

"What d you mean?" He knew, of

course, just what she meant, but her unex

pected candor had surprised him. Somehow,he had n t counted on her compunction.

"

Mydear Pauline," he said,

"

if you have anything

to tell me, I think I shall be able to stand it.

You need n t think you have to break it to me

gently, you know."

There was a long, long pause, while she sat,

her chin in her gloved hand, looking at him

steadfastly."

Lester," she began,"

you know we once

promised each other that if either of us ever

changed toward the other oh, Lester, youknow what I mean, don t you ? that we d

be honest, and that we d tell the other?"

He helped her out only with a nod."

It is n t so much that I ve changed toward

you, dear, as that I ve changed all over. I mnot the girl you married any more, Lester;

I m not Pauline Forr;I m Pauline Hope, now

140

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

and I ve gone on I m different. Youcan t create and not well, I don t know,

something changes you. It s a different

world, the artist s. Oh, I can t explain it,

Lester you would n t understand/*

Her egoism was so beautifully blind that he

missed the sting in her reproach. It had only

a grim humor. Consolingly the words

of"

Alice in Wonderland " came to him, and

he thought," The less there is of mine, the

more there is of yours/ John Irons !

"

"

And, Lester, there s something else I ve

got to tell you. It s extraordinary, it s wild

and rash, I suppose but I can t help it."

With pity, she hesitated before she dealt the

blow."

I ve oh, it s sickening to have to

tell you, but I ve fallen in love, Lester at

least I think I have I m afraid I have

with some one else. I don t know I can t

explain it even to myself, but I well, you 11

be awfully surprised, Lester it s JohnIrons!"

"

John Irons !

"

Lester repeated stupidly."

Yes, John Irons. And the impossible part,

the mad part, of it is that I ve never even seen

him at least to my knowledge/

143

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

Now what would a surprised and jealous

husband naturally do, Lester wondered un

easily, to express his emotion ? Rage and rail,

break down and weep, slay her with withering

contempt? And yet, how could he feign such

a part when he was so distracted by that baffling

Siamese-twin feeling of combined victory and

defeat? Engrossed by it, he almost forgot to

speak. The occasion certainly called for some

display of feeling, but all he could do was to

nod like a mandarin gravely and remark,"

Oh,

yes; I do recall his having written you a let

ter once." How flat it fell! But it was the

best he could do.

It didn t matter. Pauline was too excited

by her own confession to listen; and while

Lester wondered why he did n t himself con

fess and end it all, he was held entranced bythe grotesqueness of the situation and the

nervousness with which she was pouring out:" He s written me many letters. I never told

you, because -. well, because I was in love with

him, I suppose. His letters got me, just as

his book*

got the public. Oh, I suppose it

sounds strange, but letters do reveal so much!

They tell things, sometimes that are always

144

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

hidden when one meets face to face. One

can know a person for years sometimes and

never find out what one letter will betray. Oh,

you know how I used to be thrilled by your let

ters, Lester, more thrilled, often, than whenI was with you. I was a young girl then; I

don t know how they d be now you never

write me letters like that, any more. Oh, Les

ter"

the tears had come into her eyes"

I know you won t believe it and I can t ex

plain, but really I love you, dear, just as muchas ever ! Really I do, Lester. That s the

inexplicable part of it all it does n t seem to

take away anything of my feeling for you.

Don t think I ever can forget those wonderful

days we ve had together, dear only, I mafraid I care for him more, somehow, at least

in a different way. I mean he s just like

another you, somehow, only more so like

you in evening dress, or a romantic costume, or

you in another incarnation."

She was getting a bit hysterical ;Lester s very

impassivity seemed to drive her on." When

I saw that I was getting too interested in himI tried to stop it, Lester. In fact, I did stop it.

I did n t hear from him for months and months.

145

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

And then oh, if he had n t written that won

derful, terrible book ! I could n t bear it ! It

just talked to me it took hold of me it

dragged me, dragged me ! It s no use my try

ing to resist him, I can t, I can t !

"

She looked up at him desperately."

Les

ter, I m going to see him to-night. I feel as

if I knew him, through his letters and his book,

as well as I know you, better, even; and yet I

can t be absolutely sure whether I really love

him or not till I have actually seen him. But

I could n t go on without telling you, Lester;it

did n t seem fair, because, Lester, if he is what

I think he is well, it will be like touching

a match to gunpowder, I suppose I don t

know what may happen. It may mean "

She stood looking at him for a moment, her

eyes wet. Then, as he tried vainly to make uphis mind to tell her before it was too late, she

was kneeling beside him and she was clasping

his hands and she was pleading :

" Won t youkiss me, Lester ? Just one kiss for for what

we have been to each other?"

He kissed her somehow; somehow she left

him. Through the dull blue portieres he saw

her go. ... Then, not till then, did the inhibi-

146

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

tion of his will for a moment relax. Up he

jumped and followed her, reaching the hall

just as the front door closed. But open it and

call her he could not. . . . He walked back to

the library . . .

What now? What should he do? Theclock struck half-past seven.

Too late, he saw the dilemma he was in.

How could he meet her at nine o clock! Goto that rendezvous as her lorer, only for her to

find her husband ? And she was expectinga match to her gunpowder. Never! Could

she, could any woman, bear such a banal anti

climax at the very crisis of her secret, long-

nourished romance? Put the picturesque,

chivalrous ideal, the"

wonderful"

John Irons

she had created (with what wealth of fervent

fancy, he could well imagine) into the plod

ding shoes of a commonplace lawyer the blue

worsted coat and pantaloons of a man she saw

every day, talked with, ate with? No!

Pacing the floor, back and forth, back and

forth, pacing, he argued it. But if he did

not go what then? No excuse whatever

for John Irons s absence to-night was ade-

147

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

quate; even if it were, wouldn t it only post

pone the difficulty? No; more and more he

felt it impossible to tell her the truth. And

yet Pauline waiting for a lover who never

came ! How could he so humiliate her, end it

all so miserably? Was there no other way?So Lester Hope sought desperately for some

means of avoiding the issue. So all the while

he knew that he would not, could not, ever con

fess. . . . The clock struck eight . . . half-

past. . . . Still irresolute, he struggled with

his predicament, until he awoke from his ab

sorption with a start. The clock was striking

nine! His very indecision had decided it for

him;it was too late.

Decided it for him, yes ;but what about poor

Pauline, a mile away, waiting? Somethingmust be done, and be done immediately to

spare her further mortification. No more time

for thought, now; the affair must be settled

irrevocably.*

Thank God, one resource was

left that modern magic ever at hand to protect the shame of the coward.

In an instant he was at the telephone; he

called up Helen Willyer s apartment. A mo-

148

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

ment of distressing suspense, then her fright

ened, anxious,"

Hello !

"

No need to disguise his voice; his emotion

did that for him. "Is this Mrs. Hope?"

Surely she would never recognize that strange,

husky tone.

"Pauline? ... It s John Irons . . . Yes,

John Irons! I can t come . . . No, I can t

meet you at all, I can t even explain. I can

never come never ! . . . Good-by !

"

The phone clicked. Their romance was

over. Whether he had killed or wounded, he

did n t know ; but he felt exactly as if he had

shot somebody. Well, John Irons at least was

dead. No one ever would know who he was,

now, or what had become of him.

Tick, tick, tick, tick the library clock

ticked on while, unlocking a lower drawer of

his desk, Lester Hope looked in, as into a new-

made grave. There never again ! there

they were, her letters. That was all he had of

her, now all he ever would have to solace

his loneliness. . . . One envelope he took out

abstractedly, and opened. It was the letter

about his book. . . . Tick, tickj tick, tick

149

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

the clock ticked on as he sat there, reading

dreaming. ..." Women still love to be mas

tered" ... "At least, I do, anyway !" . . .

" That s the surest way to be happy, as I know,

full well!" . . .

Suddenly startled, he threw the letters back

into the drawer just in time. He jumped

up; and, as he stood there as if dreading a

ghost, she was before him Pauline, in a gap

of the portieres.

Which of the two was the whiter, the more

haggard? A sense of intolerable guilt un

nerved him; he trembled. He was the con

science-stricken sportsman ; she the bird with a

broken wing."

Well, I ve come back, Lester," she said

simply." That is, if

"

wearily she dropped

down upon the couch,"

that is, if you 11 let

me. . . ." She sat apathetic, her eyes on the

floor. ..." He did n t come."

Lester s eyes, too, were on the floor. If he

could only have put his arm about her., kissed

her, assured her of his devotion, made up in

some way for her disappointment but he

was numb, dazed. He tried to think of some

thing to comfort her nothing came. For a

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

while there was no sound in the room but

the ticking of the clock . . . tick tick

tick. . . .

More wretched now from the pain he had

caused her than he had ever been from his own

suffering, he waited in silence, feeling shame

fully inadequate to the situation. The sports

man can kill his wounded bird outright and

put it out of its misery ; but Lester Hope dared

not act. Nervously, to brace his courage, he

kept saying to himself,"

No, she must never

learn the truth; it is ghastly, but she will re

cover in time." Whatever happened he would

let her at least keep the memory of her romance

inviolate, a poetic mystery to the end.

After a while she roused herself and said,

languidly,"

Lester, would you mind getting

me a glass of milk? I feel faint. I haven t

had any dinner. I could n t eat."

Glad of any excuse for action he left her,

her eyes still fixed on the floor . . .

A few minutes later in the doorway :

Lester Hope had stopped suddenly, transfixed.

A glass had fallen from his fingers with a

crash." Where did you get this ?

"

Pauline was

153

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

demanding. She was standing by his desk;

in her hand was a pale blue envelope one of

her own letters to John Irons. It had dropped

upon the floor, undoubtedly, when he had

thrown the others into the drawer." Did John Irons give you this letter ?

"

No answer." Do you know John Irons ?

"

No answer. But in his countenance was

something that made her stare and stare at

him. And her face, too, like his, was chang

ing, changing, and her eyes were as if she were

watching the crumbling of a year s illusions.

Then suddenly they fired as she made the des

perate jump at an unthinkable conclusion.

"You are John Irons!"

He started to speak, hesitated. But there

was little need to confess, corroboration was in

his face." Did you write those letters to me,

Lester Hope? Did you, did you? Tell me!"

As he tried to put his arm about her she

avoided him, crouching away as if he were

something dreadful, and made her way 10 the

door. One bewildered, incredulous look, and

she was gone. Up the stairs he heard her

stumbling; then, above, a door slammed.

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

Below Lester Hope stood, his eyes fixed on

the letter, then gradually he awoke, his mind

insurgent. It was all so stupid, so unreal, so

unnecessary! After all, why were they both

suffering so? A violent revulsion of feeling

swept over him indignant revolt an im

perious mandate of common sense. Lawyeror novelist, invisible or in blue worsted suit,

still he was John Irons. Husband or ghost,

was n t he her lover ? Good God, he had won

her, had n t he ? Why the devil did n t he take

her? Why fear a bugaboo anticlimax? Hehad kissed her with passion before this, whyshould she shrink from him now? There she

was, right upstairs; what was he doing downhere ? fool !

" Women still love to be mastered at least

I do, anyway." Why, was n t it in that veryletter he had just been reading?

"

That s the

surest way to be happy!" Take her at her

word, fool be happy ! The morbid fantasy

he had built from his diseased pride fell to

pieces. An abnormal mental tension was

miraculously freed in his brain; his spirits

soared, soared, skylarking.

But already he was running upstairs, two

155

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

steps at a time, and now his hand was on the

knob of her door. Locked."

Pauline!"

he cried,"

let me in!"

There was no reply.

"Pauline!" This time it was a command,in virile vermilion.

Pauline, half-dressed, clutching a white ki-

mona about her, opened the door and looked

out at him with frightened eyes. It was longsince she had heard that compelling tone.

In strode Lester Hope, confident and jubi

lant, and smiled as for long he had not smiled,

at his wife.

The achievement of success is like climbing a

hill. Once at the top, and lo, a new mental

prospect shines beyond. Mrs. Hope s Husband had reached at last the summit of his en

deavor, and there, meeting him over the ridgehe found himself. Oh, positive enough,

now, was Lester Hope. He was so sure of

himself that he could play with the situation,

play with Pauline, yes, and play comedy. In

his voice was the laughter of victory."

Mrs. Lester Hope," he announced,"

I Vedecided to appeal your case. I have won youonce, and lost you. I have won you twice, and

156

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

lost you. But now, by the Winged Victory

of Samothrace, I m going to win you for the

third time. I intend to take your case up to

the Supreme Court !

"

He seized that darling defendant in his arms

and held her close." And I am now going to

show you,"he informed her,

" what I know

about the Supreme Courtship !

"

But Pauline was pushing him away."Wait! Wait a minute," she was crying;

and then, with her two hands on his shoulders,

she gazed long, long into his eyes."

John Irons !

"

It was scarcely audible.

And then" You wrote those letters ! You

wrote that book !

"

And as she looked, looked, over her rapt face

there passed admiration, contrition, anger,

amusement, disappointment, delight a rain

bow of emotions refracted from the white light

of revelation.

She sighed,"

Well, in the last ten minutes

I Ve thought out ten whole months," she went

on," and I want to tell you, Lester Irons,"

and now there was no mood on her face but

joy,"

that I have n t changed my mind one bit

about that self-satisfied little chit of a heroine

157

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

of yours. I hate her just hate her! AndI still insist that if I had been your hero, I

would have jolly well boxed her ears! Is it

too late now, Les?"

It was Pauline-of-the-Violets who was speak

ing to him; it was Pauline-of-the-Violets whowas smiling at him so mischievously.

But, temptingly though she leaned to him,

he did not box those ears. Instead

The case of"

Irons vs. Hope"

was not a

long contest, however, the two parties to the

suit the blue worsted suit soon arriving

at a happy arrangement. After the Agreement was duly signed and sealed some time

after Pauline smiled whimsically up into

his eyes."

I suppose I am a very bad woman," she

said."

After being married to the nicest and

cleverest man in the world, I have had two

lovers. But it is n t every bad woman whocan say, can she, Lester, that she has been in

love three times, and each time with her ownhusband !

"

158

VIII

ITwas Mrs. Woodling s lifelong regret that

"

John Irons"

refused to disclose his iden

tity until his second book had been published." And a second book," she confided, with raised

eyebrows and a Woodling smile,"

is usually

such a drop after an initial success." Consid

erable satisfaction it was to this professional

hostess nevertheless, to sustain her reputation

as a lion-hunter by being the first, the very first,

to present the latest popular author to the public in flesh and blood and swallow-tail.

He had insisted (genius is always eccentric,

Mrs. Woodling well knew, and how she loved

it!) that he be presented still as "John

Irons"

; and, standing beside his proud, smiling

wife, he was so introduced to flattering fools

who had once ignored him as"

Mrs. Hope s

Husband." To the unillumined his real namewas whispered behind Mrs. Woodling s bedia-

monded fingers ;at which her prize exhibit felt

159

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

even queerer than he had when, coming homeone evening, he had found the Irish night-

watchman sitting on his front steps reading" The Book of Pride."

Yielding to Pauline s insistent fond demand,he endured it, however, for this one ridiculous

evening only, and did his best to enjoy the

comedy, accepting with an ironic grace the ex

aggerated reward paid, in such salons as this,

to literary achievement. Over bare shoulders,

past heads tousled and heads bald, through the

brilliant shifting whirl of wealth and talent,

style and beauty gaily chattering, his eyes

roved, meanwhile, toward the dim outer

regions, limbos of hall and library and the

smoky refuge of the billiard room, questing a

familiar expression on the faces of bored hus

bands. One or two such countenances as

suaged his own ordeal.

To Pauline, on the contrary, the affair, with

its lights and laughter was all solemn earnest.

She glowed at the"

fascinatings" and

"

charmings"

and other adulatory adjectives

bestowed upon his novel by sweet young things,

low-necked, even as a mother listens to the

praise of an only child. Eyes burning, uncon-

160

MRS. HOPE S HUSBAND

scious even of her own pearls, she looked up at

him, so handsome and distinguished, as every

woman with a third lover looks at him, caring

not who may witness her infatuation.

Towards the end of the evening, a last, late-

arriving lady was presented to Mr. "

JohnIrons."

She was a round-eyed matron in black satin.

She was as soft and silly as only a huge womanin black satin can be. At the author of the

hour near-sighted Mrs. Poppity let her senti

mentality gush copiously forth, unwitting that

it had ever gushed at him before. Finally she

turned; and as her round eyes rolled toward

the wife of the newest celebrity, slowly her

fan swayed back and forth -back and forth,

her ostrich fan.

"A h !

"

in her wistful, far-away tone she

breathed, never once looking at Pauline s face,

"and what do you do, Mrs. Irons?" Then,

waiting for no answer, soulfully she added,

"something wow-derful, I m sure!"

THE END

161

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